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FROM 

BOSTON TO BOSTON 

A Story of Hannah and Richard Garrett 
in Old England and New England in 1630 

















Richard beat the drum with yigok.—P age 273. 




FROM 

BOSTON TO BOSTON 


A Story of Hannah and Richard Garrett 
in Old England and New England in 1630 


By 

ANNIE RUSSELL MARBLE 

n 


Illustrated by 

FRANK T. MERRILL / 



y > 

j 1 > 

' > » 


BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 

c. 


10 . 











Copyright, 1930, 

By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co/ 


All Rights Reserved 


From Boston to Boston 



Printed in U. S. A. 


APR 1 9 1930 


©CIA 22216 




t 


This Story of A Thirteen-Year-Old Girl 

of 1630 

Is Dedicated to PAULINE RUSSELL, 
A Thirteen-Year-Old Girl 
of 1930 








y ■ • 

\ 





'v‘, ■' < 




INTRODUCTORY NOTE 

The incentive and motive of this story were 
found in an entry in Winthrop’s Journal, under 
date of December, 1630 : a record of one Richard 
Garrett, shoemaker of Boston,” who sailed in a 
shallop from Boston to Plymouth, in that month. 
With him went four men and his daughter, “ a 
young girl.” The weather had been mild, but a 
storm of sleet with freezing temperature, overtook 
the shallop before Plymouth was reached. The 
voyagers lost their way as night came on and 
dropped their crude anchor, or killock, for the 
night. They expected to enter the harbor of 
Plymouth in the morning. During the night the 
stone in the killock slipped from its frame and the 
shallop drifted towards the open sea. After hours 
of suffering from exposure and cold, they saw 
signs of land, hoisted their sail, and made a landing 
on the shore near Eastham. Richard Garrett and 
one of his companions died from exhaustion and 
cold. Henry Harwood, one of the men, and the 
girl were cared for by the Nauset Indians until 
word, sent by Indian runners, brought aid from 
Plymouth. These two survivors were taken to this 

7 


8 INTRODUCTORY NOTE 


earlier settlement and remained there for several 
v^eeks. Two other survivors remained, for a time, 
in Eastham or vicinity. The Indians buried 
Richard Garrett, as Winthrop narrates. In this 
story, following carefully the records available at 
the Massachusetts Historical Society, the Ameri¬ 
can Antiquarian Society, and elsewhere, the author 
has introduced some members of the Winthrop 
party, that sailed on the Arbella, and others that 
had already settled in Salem and Charlestown. 
The effort has been to portray the life of these 
pioneers from 1630 to 1632, blending actual events, 
as recorded, with some fictitious adventures that 
seem probable and relevant. Among later records 
was that of the death of Hannah Garrett, a 
fatherless girl.” It is not possible to verify the 
name of the ‘‘ daughter ” who sailed in the shallop, 
but the author has ended the story before that 
event, thus avoiding a sad ending. A few other 
minor liberties with dates have been taken. Stress 
has been laid upon the friendliness of Sagamore 
John to the white settlers. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER page 

1 . “Are We Really Going, Mother?” 13 

II. Days of Adventure and Memory in 

Old Boston.21 

III. Ten Weeks on Shipboard . . .39 

IV. Adventures IN Old Salem . . .55 

V. Home-Making in Charlestown and 

Boston.79 

VI. Indian Summer Days in 1630 . .100 

VIL The Shallop Drifts to Nauset Har¬ 
bor . . . . . . .121 

VIII. Hannah Spends Six Weeks in Plym¬ 
outh .146 

IX. Donation Party and Return to Bos¬ 
ton .167 

X. Feasts, Fasts, and Excitements . 185 

XI. “ The Blessing of the Bay ” . . 210 

XII. Making Plans for Winniyata . . 226 

XIII. How A Plot Was Framed and Foiled 244 

XIV. “The Happiest Day in My Life ” . 263 


9 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Richard beat the drum with vigor (Page 

273). Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

Held towards the Sagamore two knives and a 

necklace of beads.58 

Dinner was to be served outdoors . . . 92 

Did you hear that? almost shouted Hannah 200 


II 



FROM 

BOSTON TO BOSTON 


CHAPTER I 

‘‘ ARE WE REALLY GOING, MOTHER? ” 

Hannah Garrett was running down the nar¬ 
row, irregular streets of old Boston, England, as 
fast as her rather short legs and very long skirts 
would permit. In spite of her haste and excite¬ 
ment, she did not forget her mother’s warning: 
“ Be careful, daughter, not to fall down and soil 
your flowered kirtle or lose your blue-bird locket.” 
She had been careful, and her best gown and lace 
collar were neither soiled nor torn. Her dearest 
possession, the blue-bird locket, was safe on its 
tiny gold chain; she had kept one hand in guard 
upon it, as she ran. 

This locket, with its bright blue color of a bird’s 
plumage against a circle of white and gold, had 
been bought for her nearly a year before by Aunt 
Prudence, who had come from Lincoln to Boston 
for her annual visit at the time of the great Fair, 
on the Mart in Boston, which opened on St. 

13 




FROM BOSTON 


Andrews’ Day in late November. Amid the cattle 
and poultry, the linen and homespun, was one 
booth where merchants from Holland sold their 
jewelry and toys. It was a proud day in Hannah’s 
life when she had carried home this locket and her 
mother had locked it safely in the small jewel-box 
which Lady Arbella had given her. ^^You must 
keep this locket until you are a young lady,” her 
Aunt Prudence had said. “ It is too costly to wear 
except upon rare occasions.” 

To-day had been one of the rare occasions,” for 
Hannah had been invited to the manor-house of 
Lady Arbella to play with two girls of about her 
own age, nieces of Isaac Johnson, the kind husband 
of Lady Arbella. After some quiet games and a 
story from the Bible, read to them by Lady Ar¬ 
bella, they had been treated to cheese-cakes and 
goat’s milk, and Hannah had been given some 
cakes to carry home to her brother and sister. The 
visit had been exciting, but far more so was a 
word that she had overheard about “ going to New 
England in the spring.” She was eager to ask her 
mother if it were true. 

Now she was at the gate of her thatched cottage, 
breathless and so agitated that she almost stumbled 
over her petticoat. She stepped on the paw of 
her grey kitten, asleep on the door-stone. Tabby 


TO BOSTON 


IS 

gave a sharp, surprised mew and ran into the rose¬ 
bushes, to give first aid,’’ with her tongue, to the 
insulted paw. 

“ I’m sorry, kitty,” said Hannah as she pushed 
open the door. I didn’t see you there, for I was 
trying to hold up my skirts. I’ll give you some 
milk soon to make you happy, but now I must find 
Mother. Mother, where are you? Are we really 
going? ” she panted, as she burst into the room. 

Her mother, knitting socks by the fireplace, put 
one finger on her lips for silence and pointed to 
the settle where a young girl was asleep. 

‘‘No, I won’t wake up Faith”—Hannah low¬ 
ered her voice—“ but tell me. Mother, are we 
really going? ” 

“ Going where? ” interrupted her brother, Rich¬ 
ard, four years older than Hannah, who was draw¬ 
ing charts at a small table near the one window. 
“ Going where, gadfly? ” he repeated. 

“ Going to New England; but I don’t like to be 
called such a horrid name as gadfly. Richard 
shouldn’t call me that, should he. Mother? ” 

“Nay, Richard, a gadfly is not a pretty name 
for your sister,” said Mistress Garrett, as she 
smiled kindly at the flushed face of Hannah. 

“ That’s just what she is,” persisted Richard. 
“ She is always gadding and buzzing around ask- 


i6 


FROM BOSTON 


ing questions. Who says we are going to New 
England? Is it true, Mother? Are we going with 
Isaac Johnson and Thomas Dudley?’’ 

Who is asking questions, now? ” laughed Han¬ 
nah, as she took ofl her cape and knitted hood, and 
shook out her long, dark hair. 

^‘Children! Do be quiet, or you will waken 
little Faith, and it was not easy to get her to sleep. 
She has been restless with a bad ague in her ear.” 

She is sound asleep now, Mother, and if we 
talk in low tones she will not hear us,” urged 
Hannah. So please, tell us, are we really going 
to cross the ocean in a big ship and, perhaps, see 
Indians as Mary Chilton did in Plymouth?” 

God protect us from the wild seas and the yet 
wilder savages, if we leave our comfortable home 
here for unknown perils. Yet your father is ever 
eager for tests of courage and adventures. Yes, he 
fain would go in the ship with John Winthrop and 
Thomas Dudley and Isaac Johnson.” 

^‘And shall we go with him. Mother? Oh, do 
say we shalir^ begged Hannah. 

“ It is a fearsome thing for women and children 
to cross the stormy seas, and I know not yet 
whether we shall go or abide at home until the 
settlement is made safer. And yet Isaac Johnson 
told your father that his wife. Lady Arbella, frail 


TO BOSTON 17 

woman though she be, was determined to go with 
him/’ 

Yes, Mother, she is going. I heard her say so 
this afternoon to Mistress Dudley and her daugh¬ 
ter, Anne Bradstreet. They are going—and 
Stephen and Adam Winthrop. One of the ships 
that was called the Eagle is to be named the 
Arbella, so Mistress Dudley said. I hope we shall 
go in that ship.” 

Probably, you won’t go in any ship,” inter¬ 
rupted her teasing brother. “ You would be only 
a girl who could not help much in the settlement. 
I could hew timber with the men, and I know I 
could draw plans for houses and forts. I would 
much rather build houses than make shoes as 
Father has done so many years.” 

“ Simon Bradstreet was talking with your 
father,” said Mistress Garrett, “ and I heard him 
say, ‘ Surely, Richard Garrett, your trade will be 
needed as much in the New England as it is in the 
Old.’ Father seemed much pleased and he an¬ 
swered, with his care-free laugh, ^Aye, even more 
so; for old shoes will need frequent repairs, and 
new shoes will need heavier lasts, where the only 
roads are Indian trails.’ ” 

“ If I am only a girl I could help in the new 
settlement, for Lady Arbella said there would be 


i8 


FROM BOSTON 


work aplenty for women and children/’ urged 
Hannah, with a look of challenge at Richard. “ I 
can help Mother cook the meals and mend the 
clothes, as I do at home. Oh, I nearly forgot my 
message from Lady Arbella to you. Mother. Here 
is a lace collar which needs a few new threads 
where it has broken ”—she took from her long 
pocket a carefully folded handkerchief with the 
collar inside—Lady Arbella bade me present her 
compliments to you as a fine sempstress and she 
asks if you will mend this lace for her.” 

“Aye, I will do my best to make the beautiful 
lace as good as new. This was one of Lady Ar- 
bella’s wedding gifts that I opened for her, when 
it came in a packet from Brussels,” she added as 
she examined the collar. “ If we are to leave our 
homes for the cold, barren shores of New England, 
we shall have little need of fine laces and satin 
pelisses, I fear me. It will be well for us if we find 
food and rude shelter against the cold and attacks 
by the Indians.” 

“ I will carry a gun when I go to hew timber,” 
said Richard, taking down an old musket from 
above the fireplace and balancing it on his shoulder 
as he paced the floor. “ I would like to shoot down 
a few of those painted red men when they come 
prowling around to attack us.” 


TO BOSTON 


19 

‘‘ How do you know they all do prowl around 
and attack people? ’’ Hannah asked. “ Mayhap 
we shall find some Indians that are friendly, as was 
that guide at Plymouth, that our vicar, John Cot¬ 
ton, told us about, the same one who taught the set¬ 
tlers how to plant their corn with little fishes in 
the hillocks, and told them where they could find 
wild fowl and nuts.’’ 

Go now, Richard,” said their mother, fearful 
of further disputes. Go and help your father 
finish his lasts—and be careful not to waken Faith 
when you go out of the door. And you, Hannah, 
put on your everyday gown and take up your 
knitting. We shall need all the warm socks we 
can make before we leave this land of comfort.” 

That means we are really going, really going. 
Tabby,” whispered Hannah to her kitten that had 
entered with a plaintive mew when Richard 
opened the door. She took the pet in her arms and 
skipped about for a moment, with imminent dan¬ 
ger lest Tabby’s sharp claws should tear her lace 
collar or break the thin gold chain which held the 
blue-bird locket. 

“ How soon do we sail. Mother? ” called Rich¬ 
ard from the open door. 

Oh, I know not! God grant it may be warm 
weather and smooth seas! Now, Hannah, put 


20 


FROM BOSTON 


down that cat and take off your holiday clothes. 
Pick up that ball of yarn quickly before Tabby 
chases it,” she added, as the cat jumped down with 
mischief in her eyes. Balked of her prey, when 
Hannah had rescued the ball of yarn from Tabby’s 
claws, the cat completed the awakening of little 
Faith by springing upon the settle and playing 
with the lute-string ribbands which were hanging 
down from Faith’s braided hair. The little girl 
was rested by her sleep, and stroked the kitten while 
Hannah and her mother knitted socks, the former 
with exciting visions of the sea voyage to New 
England, the latter with sad thoughts of leaving 
the home-land for unknown dangers and discom¬ 
forts. 


TO BOSTON 


21 


CHAPTER II 

DAYS OF ADVENTURE AND MEMORY IN OLD BOSTON 

The low, grey cottage of Richard Garrett, shoe¬ 
maker to the residents of Boston and vicinity, stood 
on one of the irregular streets that clustered about 
the Mart, or market place, where the May Fairs 
had been held for generations and where the City 
Cross was still standing. The Grammar School, 
built on the site of an old Friary, was near Han¬ 
nah’s home, and she would watch Richard and the 
other boys as they went to this school, a brick build¬ 
ing with jutting front and arched windows, that 
bore the date, 1567, when it had been erected in the 
days of Queen Elizabeth. 

Hannah wished she might have a horn-book to 
hang around her neck on a cord, or carry under her 
arm, as the boys carried theirs, and that she might 
learn to read, write, and cipher. But she feared 
that such a wish was wrong—for little girls were 
told that they must abide at home and learn to knit, 
spin, and cook. They might listen to their fathers 
and brothers when they read from books or told 
tales from history—and Hannah listened eagerly to 


22 


FROM BOSTON 


many facts that she retold to little Faith when they 
went to their tiny chamber under the thatched roof 
to “ go to sleep,” but often to lie awake and talk in 
low tones, as they heard the wind howl or the waves 

lap the shore when a storm stirred up the quiet 

\ 

waters of the river Witham. 

One of Hannah’s most graphic tales was about 
the High Tide” on the coast in 1571. This 
swept over the sea-wall of Boston, covering the 
market place and the streets of Bargate and Worm- 
gate, and compelling many people to find shelter 
on the roofs until the boatmen could rescue them 
and row them to higher land beyond the fens. 
Mother had added her girlhood memories of the 
account of this flood-tide, which had been told to 
her when she was employed in the manor-house 
of the Countess of Lincoln at Sempringham. 

^‘The beacon burned steadily in the lanthorn 
tower of Saint Botolph’s church, three hundred 
feet high; its light could be seen forty miles away 
on a clear night,” Mother had said. ‘‘At that time 
there were bells in the belfry tower. When there 
was danger from pirates or other enemies, the bells 
would ring chimes of warning. On that night of 
the ‘ High Tide,’ they played ‘ The Bride of 
Enderby,’ a tune that always foretold disaster.” 

“ I hope there will be a beacon light in some 


TO BOSTON 


23 

tower on a hill in New England,” said Hannah. 
“ Perhaps we shall live in some place that will be 
called Boston.” 

Little chance of that, daughter,” her father 
said with a smile. “We expect to find refuge in 
Salem for a time, with Governor Endicott and his 
settlers, or some of us may go to Mishawum, that 
is already called Charlestown, where are other 
families who sailed two years ago from England.” 

With his superior knowledge, Richard would 
explain to his sisters how the name, Boston, came 
into being. “ It was first Botolphtowne, in honor 
of Saint Botolph who founded it and whose statue 
used to be on the toll-gate of the old sea-wall. 
Then it was called Botolston in a shorter form, 
and, finally, Bot-os-ton, or Boston.” 

Mother told them about the noble cathedral and 
the old Guildhall of Lincoln, where she had lived 
as a girl. Here William the Norman had one of 
his great castles which was still standing, although 
it had been captured and partially destroyed three 
times. 

“ Father said he might take me to Lincoln some 
day, on horseback, when he goes there to get tanned 
leather,” Richard boasted. 

“ It is a long journey—close by thirty miles,”— 
was his mother’s serious answer. “ Much of the 


24 


FROM BOSTON 


way is over the fen country, marshy and treach¬ 
erous for horsemen in the spring season. Well do 
I remember last spring when John Winthrop and 
his brother-in-law, Emanuel Downing, rode to 
Lincolnshire to see Isaac Johnson, and they fell in 
the bog.” 

“ How did they get out. Mother? ” Hannah 
queried. 

“ Father and William Vassell, with Thomas 
Leverett’s ox-team rescued them and their horses.” 
With an effort to conceal a smile, she continued, 

I was called by Lady Arbella to help clean their 
linen the next day, and to mend some rents in John 
Winthrop’s white ruff. It was a humiliating ad¬ 
venture for such men.” 

Often during the evenings of that cold winter 
of 1629-1630 the talk around the Garrett fireside 
was about the New England to which they were 
to sail in the spring. Sometimes, Hannah was 
allowed to stay up beyond her bedtime to listen, 
curled up on the settle in a warm rug. She would 
watch the embers glow and die away, seeing visions 
of the excitements on shipboard and the possible 
adventures in the new country. She had her 
father’s zest for action and his defiance to fear; 
she could not fully understand why her mother 
seemed so sad at thoughts of leaving England. 


TO BOSTON 


25 

Richard would tell the family about the facts 
narrated by the master of the Grammar School. 
He tried to make some charts of the coast of New 
England. His father declared, with a laugh, that 
Richard used more strips of leather, tied together 
with hemp, for his maps than he would to make 
a pair of shoes. 

But they are only scraps, sir, not any large 
pieces—only what you have thrown away from 
your bench,” Richard explained with rising color 
and defense. 

Surely, lad, you may use all the scraps you 
need for your charts; and they are well-made, a 
credit to your skill and your teacher.” 

The master says that Captain John Smith has 
made an excellent map of the coast of the new 
world,” Richard explained. “ When he sailed 
from England in 1614, in two ships, he explored 
all the coast from Virginia to the north and called 
it New England. After he came home he made a 
map of the coast and gave names to some of the 
places, like Cape Ann, Cape Elizabeth, and Plym¬ 
outh.” 

^^Was it John Smith who gave the name of 
Plymouth to the place where Carver, Bradford, 
and Elder Brewster settled ten years ago? ” asked 
Mistress Garrett. “ I had thought it was so called 


26 


FROM BOSTON 


because The Mayflower sailed from Plymouth, 
England, after leaving Leyden, when the company 
was crowded into* one ship.” 

No, Mother, Captain John Smith had already 
placed the name, Plymouth, on his map. He was 
a daring explorer, and I wish I might see one of 
his charts.” 

A few days later Hannah and her mother were 
waiting for the return of Richard and his father 
for the evening meal. Faith was playing with 
Tabby on the hearth-rug, making the kitten spin 
around in quest of a small woolen ball. Better 
stir the porridge again, Hannah, lest it become 
thick and stick to the bottom of the skillet. I won¬ 
der where your father and Richard can be. It is 
a night of frost and sleet outside, and the warmth 
within will be welcome to them.” 

As Mistress Garrett was speaking the door 
opened, letting in a draught of cold wind, and there 
were sounds of a man stamping his feet on the 
threshold. “There is Father—I never can mis¬ 
take his footsteps—and Richard will be with him. 
Take the trenchers to the fire where they will be 
warm for the porridge, and bring the loaf from 
the oven,” was her mother’s word to Hannah, as 
she helped her husband to take off his long cape 
and shake off the frozen drops from his beaver hat. 


TO BOSTON 


27 

“ ’Tis a bleak, cold night outside, goodwife, and 
the fire looks as cheerful as the loaf smells enticing. 
Bring you my boot-jack, Hannah, and I will draw 
off these heavy, damp shoes and warm my feet 
before the fire.” 

“A bad night, indeed, and the beacon light of 
Saint Botolph will be a life-saver, perchance, to 
mariners and seafarers if such are on the river to¬ 
night. But where is Richard? Did you send him 
on some distant errand? I thought he would come 
home with you,” asked the mother. 

‘‘Richard? Richard? Why, isn’t he here?” 
asked the father, looking about in surprise. “ I 
sent him to John Cotton’s house with a pair of 
shoes that had been resoled, more than an hour ago. 
Our good minister must have kept him for a talk 
and a cup of tea; he is greatly interested in our 
boy, goodwife, and often tells me that Richard 
will make a man of strong mind and noble char¬ 
acter. How about dipping our spoons into the 
porridge in the trencher while it is warm. The 
lad will soon be here to join us.” 

It grew darker and colder; the wind howled 
down the chimney and through the cracks of door 
and one window. An hour passed, and Richard 
did not appear. His mother became more and 
more restless and anxious; she shivered at the 


28 


FROM BOSTON 


sound of the sleet and wind and, in spite of all her 
determination to keep cheerful and not harbor any 
tragic fears, her thoughts would turn to those two 
graves in the churchyard beside Saint Botolph’s. 
Here were buried two little boys who had died, 
one of them from fever but the other from an 
infection of the lungs, after he had been lost for 
two days in the fen country, where he had fol¬ 
lowed some strolling gypsies. But they were 
young children and Richard was almost a man—so 
she comforted herself, and yet she returned again 
and again to the door, to listen for a footstep, or 
open for a second to look down the narrow street. 
Only the wind and storm could be heard; only the 
lanthorn in Saint Botolph’s tower could be seen in 
the inky blackness. 

Hannah shared her mother’s restlessness but she 
tried to assure her that Richard must be safe. 

Perchance he is looking at the books in the 
vicarage library. Mother, for he said the minister 
told him he might read about King Richard 
there, or he may have stopped to see Thomas 
Leverett about those hockey-sticks that they were 
planning to make.” 

“ Richard is not a boy to be so thoughtless of 
the feelings of others,” said his mother, with a 
catch in her voice. ‘‘ I fear something has hap- 


TO BOSTON 


29 


pened to him in the darkness. There were two 
strange-looking men yesterday, who seemed to be 
lurking about the Grammar School when the boys 
came out. Oh, I do not know what would happen 
to us all if aught of ill came to Richard! ” 

There, there, goodwife, don’t worry—the lad 
is all right. But if you cannot rest in peace until 
he comes, I will go to the vicarage, where I feel 
sure he is reading as Hannah suggests, and bring 
him home in safety. My boots are dry now and it 
is not far to good John Cotton’s house. Go you to 
bed, Hannah, where little Faith is already asleep, 
and Richard and I will soon be back. I’ll put 
another log on the fire and do you, goodwife, sit 
you down to knit or spin, and sing some of the 
hymns you love so well—and sing with such mel¬ 
ody and faith. I’ll soon be with you again.” 

When Hannah begged to sit up, after her father 
had shut the door and her mother had said to him, 
“ God speed! ”, her request was not denied. They 
tried to knit and to recite together some psalms, 
like ‘‘The Lord is my Shepherd,” but they lis¬ 
tened in growing anxiety as the minutes passed 
into another hour—and neither father nor Richard 
came. “ There’s a light,” almost shouted Hannah, 
on one of her frequent excursions to the tiny win¬ 
dow. Yes, two or three lights are coming this 


30 


FROM BOSTON 


way. They must have found Richard, Mother, 
and are escorting him and Father home because it 
is so dark to-night.” 

^‘An accident! Perchance there has been an 
accident and he is hurt.” Mistress Garrett’s voice 
trembled as she hastened to the door. Yes! here 
were four men with lanterns and long sticks—and 
she heard her husband’s voice but not that of 
Richard. 

The lights paused outside the house and Gar¬ 
rett came within, for a whispered word with his 
wife—she must keep up her courage—and not 
let Hannah get frightened—for all would be well,” 
he assured her. No, Richard was not at John 
Cotton’s; he had left the shoes and started for home 
three hours before—probably he had gone around 
some by-path and, perhaps, fallen in the sleet and 
hurt his foot so that he could not walk home. 
They would find him all right—for John Cotton, 
Thomas Leverett, George Phillips, and he were all 
on the quest, with lanterns, and they would call 
Richard’s name as they went along the paths, so 
that he would hear them and answer. 

All through that cold, stormy night the men 
searched the lanes and the shore for Richard Gar¬ 
rett, holding their lanterns aloft or peering into 
hidden alleys or wayside tangles. They called his 



s 


TO BOSTON 31 

name often, but only silence followed, except for 
occasional voices of other neighbors who had been 
roused by the tale of the lost lad and had joined the 
searchers in sympathy. Never would Hannah for¬ 
get a moment of that long night-watch beside her 
mother! Tabby seemed to realize that her little 
mistress was in trouble, for she kept awake much 
of the time, purring softly in Hannah’s lap or 
lapping her hand with her warm tongue. Mother 
never cried and seldom spoke—though her lips 
moved sometimes—Hannah knew that she was 
praying, then she would put another log upon 
the fire and wrap the rug more closely about 
Hannah. 

As the dawn came, with a ruddy glow after the 
night of wind and storm, the men who had been 
out all night, returned for rest and food. The 
usual, happy, care-free look on the face of Rich¬ 
ard’s father was gone. He almost stumbled with 
exhaustion on to the settle and buried his face in 
his hands, without saying a word. Now his wife 
showed her unselfishness; she drew off his boots 
and wet jerkin, put out dry clothes, warmed by the 
fire, set the kettle over the flame and, in a few min¬ 
utes, had hot broth which she urged him to drink, 
speaking in tones that were cheerful: 

“ It is almost light now, husband, and more peo- 


32 


FROM BOSTON 


pie will be astir to help in the search for the lad. 
If he is hidden, or has lost his way in the dark, he 
can find his way home by daylight. Do you lie 
down, for a little rest! And Hannah, do you go up 
into the loft and sleep for a little time beside Faith! 
You have kept a long, faithful watch with 
Mother.” 

Mercy Garrett continued her watch while her 
husband and Hannah slept. What had happened 
to Richard? Had he been victim of foul play? 
Had he wandered off into the bogs? Was he ill 
somewhere and could not get home? Hope and 
despair alternated in her heart, as the kettle sang 
on the hearth and the morning light penetrated the 
small window-pane. What was that sound? It 
was a step coming nearer. It sounded like Rich¬ 
ard’s step—for she had a keen ear for different 
footsteps. She must be dreaming! She must not 
let herself cherish false hopes! But the step was 
on the doorstone. It was Richard. He was open¬ 
ing the door quietly and peering inside, as if he 
feared he might disturb the sleeping family. 

Richard was shivering with cold and hunger. 
As soon as he was warmed and fed, however, he 
tried to make light of his night of adventure. He 
was sorry he had frightened his mother—she 
looked so white and the tears would fall down her 


TO BOSTON 


33 


cheeks as she looked at him. He explained that 
he had had an accident. The schoolmaster had 
told the boys, the day before, that one of Captain 
John Smith’s maps of New England might be seen 
in the Guildhall where valuable papers were 
stored. Richard had decided that he would see 
and study this map at the first opportunity. 

When he left the vicarage it was still light; he 
would have an hour in which he could examine 
the precious map before he would be expected 
home. The custodian of the old Guildhall, John 
Stephenson, knew Richard well and readily 
granted him permission to study the treasured 
map, showing him how to replace it in the vault 
and lock the fastening with the huge key. Richard 
was such a favorite, both with his schoolmaster and 
•the minister, that he could be trusted to do no 
harm to the map or other valuable papers. “ When 
you have finished studying this map of the very 
shores where you and your father may be in an¬ 
other year, lock it up safely and hide the key in 
this cabinet,” said the venerable caretaker, indicat¬ 
ing a hidden secret drawer in the side of the wall. 

Yesterday two suspicious-looking men were 
prowling about this town,” he continued, and 
they seemed intent on examining the windows of 
the Guildhall, on a level with the street. I re- 


34 


FROM BOSTON 


ported their presence to our mayor, Thomas Lev- 
erett, and they were escorted by two of the kings’ 
guards to a shallop that has taken them to Lincoln, 
to the Castle, where they will be examined—for 
pirates are not always on the sea.” 

^‘And did these pirates come back and attack you, 
Richard? ” asked Hannah, with breathless excite¬ 
ment. 

“ Of course not, silly, no one attacked me. I 
was only locked into the Guildhall and had to stay 
there all night.” 

But where was the caretaker? ” his father 
asked. 

Well, you see, I was so interested in that map 
—and I had some scraps of leather on which I 
tried to make a copy of a part of it—that it grew 
dark before I realized it. Then I put it away care¬ 
fully and locked it in the vault. When I went up¬ 
stairs to the door of the Guildhall I found it 
locked. I suppose the caretaker either forgot I 
was there—or, as he said this morning, he thought 
I had gone home already. The windows, as you 
know. Father, are all barred with' iron and I 
couldn’t crawl out.” 

“ Why didn’t you make an awful noise and cry 
for help?” Hannah asked. 

“ The wind and storm were making more noise 


TO BOSTON 


35 


than I could,” was the answer. ‘‘ I thought some 
one would go past and I could get attention in 
some way, but it was so dark that I could see 
nothing but the Saint Botolph beacon—and then I 
got so drowsy that I lay down on the rug, under the 
Throne-chair—that was the warmest place—and 
fell sound asleep. The next thing I knew John 
Cotton was opening the door with a key, half an 
hour ago.” 

John Cotton? ” asked his father. “ Our good 
minister was with us on the search all night among 
the wharves and lanes, calling for you, Richard. 
How did he know that you were in the Guild¬ 
hall?” 

He didn’t really know I was there, but he said 
he could not sleep, after he left you (for he knew 
how much you and Mother were suffering with 
fears for me), and then he suddenly recalled that 
I had spoken to him late in the afternoon about the 
map made by John Smith and my hope to see it. 
There was a chance that I might have stopped in 
the Guildhall, so he roused John Stephenson, in his 
home on Sibsy Lane, got the key to the Guildhall, 
and found me there asleep. So that is all there is 
to tell—except that I am very hungry. Mother.” 

There was a feast of rejoicing in the Garrett 
home that day, and John Cotton came to join the 


FROM BOSTON 


36 

household for his tea and a word of thanksgiving 
prayer. ^^Take care, Richard, my lad, that you 
do not wander off to explore and make maps in 
the New England, for you may not be found so 
quickly as you were here. You and your sisters 
must lessen the burdens of your good mother, and 
save her from unnecessary worries.” 

The first signs of spring came early in March. 
Hannah and Faith found some pussy willows with 
which they distracted Tabby until she snapped at 
the furry ends and choked in the effort to swallow 
one of them. In the garden, sprouts were almost 
showing green on rose-bushes that would blossom 
from June to September. 

What may I take with me on the voyage? ” 
Mistress Garrett had asked her husband and he 
had answered with a laugh, “As little as possible.” 
Then he added in a kindly tone, “Take some 
wooden trenchers and spoons, goodwife, for the 
porridge, and a skillet to boil a pudding in, and 
some leathern bottles. Take your oaken chest, 
filled with coverlets and woolen garments, for we 
may have cold more bitter than in this country.” 

Within a few days they were to leave Boston and 
start on the long pilgrimage on the “ big ship.” 
Mistress Garrett had done her monthly washing; 
she and Hannah had dusted the beds and polished 


TO BOSTON 


37 

the pewter and brass fire-dogs. Aunt Prudence 
was to live in their cottage; possibly the next year 
she would come to New England with their be¬ 
loved minister, John Cotton. At the manor-house, 
Lady Arbella and Mistress Dudley had welcomed 
the aid of Mistress Garrett in mixing spices for 
the meats and squeezing the juice of many lemons. 
This would be a healthy relish for too much salted 
meats and fish—so said their good Dr. Gager. “ I 
would much rather have some sweetmeats,” Han¬ 
nah confided to Faith, who agreed, So would I.” 

They were taking a last walk with Mother 
through the narrow street, past the market place 
and Saint Botolph’s church. Mistress Garrett 
urged the girls always to remember these buildings 
and memorials in Boston. They must not forget 
how Hussey Castle and Rockford Tower looked in 
the sunset. Here is the house of the Flemish mer¬ 
chant in Mitre Lane. Do you see the letters, 
^ E. R.’ on the gable?” she asked. Yes, Hannah 
knew that meant “ Edward Rex,” that it was built 
in the reign of King Edward. Then they came to 
the Church Alms House on Wormgate Street, near 
the Church, and then walked past the Guildhall. 
‘‘ Do you think we shall ever forget the night that 
Richard was locked in there?** Hannah asked. 

Can you tell me who laid the corner-stone of 


FROM BOSTON 


38 

our beloved Saint Botolph’s church, which was two 
hundred years in building? ’’ Mistress Garrett 
asked—and Hannah answered promptly and 
proudly: “ Dame Marjery Tilney laid the corner¬ 
stone and placed five pounds sterling upon it as the 
first gift—and that was in 1309.” ^‘Well done, 
Hannah, you have not listened in vain to Richard’s 
recitals of tales of Boston’s history. Now we must 
hurry faster for Father will be waiting for his 
supper.” 

^‘Just in time, goodwife, for I must away to 
Isaac Johnson’s to complete arrangements for our 
departure this day-week. The ship’s master has 
fixed his fee as five pounds for each person and 
four pounds for goods, but minor children are car¬ 
ried free of charge.” 

“ Not a very thrifty arrangement,” laughed his 
wife. “ Children’s food costs as much as that of 
their elders. However, we are gainers, if we take 
three children.” 


TO BOSTON 


39 


CHAPTER III 

TEN WEEKS ON SHIPBOARD 

Three loud Booms! ” sounded from the guns 
on the Arbella on Tuesday, April sixth, as the ship 
lifted her anchor and spread her sails, preparatory 
to leaving Yarmouth harbor. Were they really 
going out into the ocean? The children were hop¬ 
ping about in excitement. Hannah had shivered 
at first when the loud sounds came from the can¬ 
non, but she had already been on shipboard two 
weeks and exulted now in the noise and creaking 
of the sails. The children leaned over the deck- 
rails, or ropes, and waved their hands to those on 
shore. 

At Southampton they had waited for final action 
by the Council—that was what her father called 
it—that elected John Winthrop as Governor of the 
Massachusetts Bay Company. “ How proud 
Stephen Winthrop must be of his father,” Hannah 
said to her mother one day; then she added, 
Stephen is a nice boy to play with; he is always 
pleasant and doesn’t tease the girls. When Richard 
laughed at Faith because she went to sleep during 
that long sermon by John Cotton at Southampton, 
Stephen said, ‘ Never mind. Faith. I was almost 


40 


FROM BOSTON 


asleep myself, but we shall miss the vicar of Saint 
Botolph’s. Perhaps he will come to New England 
next year with my mother.’ ” 

Another week had been spent at Yarmouth, wait¬ 
ing for favorable winds and the equipment of the 
other ships in the fleet. The Garrett children were 
very proud to be sailing in the Arbella, which was 
called the “ admiral ” of the thirteen ships. The 
Talbot was vice-admiral; the Ambrose was rear- 
admiral and the Jewel was the captain of the fleet. 
“Next to the Arbella, I like the Jewel said 
Hannah. 

Peter Milbourne, the captain of the Arbella, was 
very kind to the children and explained to them 
the parts of the four-masted schooner and the 
meaning of the salutes. Three “ Booms ” were 
sounded as a farewell to Matthew Craddock, one 
of the wealthy and influential promoters of the new 
settlement. Another salute had been given to Cap¬ 
tain Burleigh of Yarmouth Castle, who had break¬ 
fasted with Governor Winthrop and the Captain 
of the Arbella. “ He is a grand old man,” said 
Captain Milbourne. “ He was in the navy of 
Queen Elizabeth and won many honors in the war 
with Spain. For more than three years he was 
held prisoner by that enemy.” 

Another exciting day, while the ship waited in 


TO BOSTON 


41 

Yarmouth harbor, had followed “ a wicked deed ’’ 
by two of the landsmen on a fast day. They had 
pierced a rundlet of strong waters ’’ and stolen 
some of this for themselves. Governor Winthrop, 
kind man as he was to old and young alike, realized 
that, for the good of the voyagers, these men must 
be severely punished. They were seized and laid 
in irons all night. The next morning they were 
brought on deck where all could see them, and 
soundly whipped.” Hannah was ready to cry 
when she saw the two men shake with fear, but 
her mother led her away to the cabin below and 
explained to her why such action was necessary 
for the discipline ” of the crew of the Arbella, 
Now all the delays and discipline ” seemed 
past; the rain and fog had lifted, the wind was 
steady, and the ship’s master announced that all 
would be given an ample dinner, in honor of their 
departure for the open seas. They had spiced beef 
and salted meat, pease, and bannock, and even a 
small flagon of beer for each of the older children. 

Older ” was interpreted to be eleven or more, so 
Hannah and Stephen Winthrop had a share, but 
Adam Winthrop, two years younger, and little 
Faith were given milk from Yarmouth cows, a 
supply of which had been sent to the ship by 
Matthew Craddock. 


42 


FROM BOSTON 


Then Captain Milbourne led the children in 
some games. They tried blind-man’s bufif,” but 
that was soon voted as too dangerous ” by the 
mothers, after Adam Winthrop had nearly slipped 
under the deck-ropes in his desperate effort to 
escape being caught. Leap-frog ” was more safe 
but less interesting, for the girls were not allowed 
to leap,” only to watch the boys. Sometimes 
they played a game of “ ball and bat.” “ Mary and 
John” was a favorite, as a modified form of 
“ blind-man’s buff.” All the children formed a 
ring by holding hands. Mary and John were 
‘^counted out” and John was blindfolded. He 
must catch Mary within the ring; she might crawl, 
or creep, or use any means of eluding him, but 
when caught she was blindfolded until she could 
catch her “John.” The greatest fun was playing 
and singing “London Bridge is Falling Down.” 
Hannah did actually fall down, tangled in her 
long, full skirts, but she laughed with the others 
as they shouted at her efforts to scramble up, for 
the ship had already begun to pitch and roll from 
side to side. 

Another excitement, that threatened to turn a 
day of happiness into one of gloom for Hannah, 
was the discovery, when she went below at bed¬ 
time, that her blue-bird locket was missing. With 


TO BOSTON 


43 

some reluctance, her mother had taken it out from 
their chest—and the gold jewel-box that Lady 
Arbella had once given her—and yielded to Han¬ 
nah’s urgent request that she might wear it “ just 
this once,” in honor of their sailing. When she 
reached the cabin, neither the locket nor the chain 
could be found. Hannah recalled that she had 
looked at it with much pride during the dinner— 
and that Mistress Dudley had called the attention 
of her daughter, Anne Bradstreet, who wrote poe¬ 
try, to the lovely color and design. It must have 
become loosened in their games, and perhaps it 
had already slid down the deck and into the sea. 
Life began to look tragic to Hannah when she 
found Captain Milbourne and he could not get 
any trace of it. Possibly some one of the seamen 
might have found it and would return it for a 
reward? But they all looked guiltless, as they 
answered the Captain’s questions. All the women 
and children grieved with Hannah and her mother 
—for jewelry was scarce and much treasured by 
these Puritans who had denied themselves many 
of their precious ornaments when they sailed from 
their English homes. 

‘‘Here it is! Found all safe and as bright as 
ever!” said Isaac Johnson, as he appeared at the 
door of the cabin, holding out the blue-bird locket 


FROM BOSTON 


44 

to Mistress Garrett. “ It must have fallen on the 
deck, right into the folds of Lady Arbella’s rug as 
she sat watching the games. I was about to spread 
the rug over the cabin-cot when I heard a gentle, 
ringing sound—and there was the locket on the 
floor. Sleep well now, little Hannah, if you like 
the motion of being tossed in the cradle of the 
deep.” 

The next day there was “ a big sea on.” Hannah 
was missing, after the children had been given a 
frugal dinner, and her mother feared she might 
be ill so she sent Richard in search. He found her 
with Anna Pollard below deck; soon he appeared 
dragging them back in disgust. They had an 
exciting tale to tell which they had heard. “ It 
was one of Sir Richard SaltonstalPs maids,” said 
Hannah. “ She was bringing up some food from 
the cook-room and she fell, as the ship gave a 
sudden pitch, so near the grating that she might 
have tumbled into the hold, had not one of the 
ship’s carpenters seen her and saved her.” 

There’s a lesson for you, gadfly,” declared 
Richard. “ Don’t go peering and prying around 
this ship or you will fall—not into the hold—but 
into the ocean.” 

The Arbella proved too fast for her companion 
ships, so Captain Milbourne gave orders to clew 


TO BOSTON 


45 

up the mainsail.” Richard became expert as an as¬ 
sistant whenever it was necessary to shift direction. 

When the foretopsail is hoisted, the ship sails 
more steadily,” he explained to the girls. “ The 
Mary and John is a rival to the Arbella in speed,” 
he added. I shouldn’t wonder if we had almost a 
race across the ocean. Most of the colonists from 
Devonshire and Dorset are on that ship.” 

If we get safely through the needles, all will 
be well.” Hannah had heard this strange sen¬ 
tence, spoken by Governor Winthrop to Captain 
Peter Milbourne. Running to her mother, who 
was sitting with Lady Arbella in a sheltered spot, 
she asked, with breathless excitement, Mother, 
Mother, what kind of needles are there in the sea? 
Are they needles for sewing or knitting? ” she said, 
with a laugh. 

“Needles in the sea! What does the child 
mean? ” Mistress Garrett turned to Lady Arbella 
for an answer. With a laugh that echoed that of 
Hannah, this gentlewoman replied: “Needles in 
the sea are what the seamen call the three white 
jutting rocks of chalk, resting on dark-colored 
bases in Alum Bay. When the sea is rough, they 
are treacherous, for they rise one hundred feet. 
But this is a clear day and, doubtless, we are safely 
through ‘ the needles ’ without any rent or rip for 


FROM BOSTON 


46 

the boatmen to mend, as your mother, Hannah, 
mends so skilfully my gowns and lace collars.” 

The morning of April tenth was clear and the 
sun was warm. The women were knitting and 
talking cheerfully while the children were running 
races, or playing Hunt the whistle ” with the 
seamen. Sometimes, Anna Pollard outran the 
boys, but Stephen Winthrop was usually in the 
lead. 

It may not be maidenly for these girls to romp 
so with the boys,” said Mistress Garrett, “ but we 
shall need less lemon juice with our meat to pre¬ 
vent scurvy if they get this healthy exercise.” 

Lady Arbella seemed to be watching, with a 
tense expression, a group of men near the pilot¬ 
house, including her husband, Isaac Johnson, and 
Governor Winthrop. They were talking with the 
Captain, who would turn, at intervals, to gaze 
through that wonderful invention, the telescope. 
Far off she could see sails of ships. Probably they 
were others of the fleet that could not keep up with 
the Arbella, Then she saw Captain Milbourne 
shake his head, drop the telescope, and give a sud¬ 
den command to one of the sailors near him. 

Governor Winthrop came towards the women 
and children, followed by the Captain, who 
shouted, in a clear, firm voice, Clear the decks! 


TO BOSTON 


47 

Send the women and children below! Get the 
ordnance ready for action! Arm the men with 
muskets! ” 

Excited, but without any outcry, the women left 
the deck. Isaac Johnson came to help Lady 
Arbella and he took Faith by the hand. “ What is 
the trouble? Why are you ordered to take 
muskets?” his wife asked, in a low tone. When 
all the women were below in the cabin, he ex¬ 
plained to her briefly: ^^The Captain has been 
watching three ships that seemed to be coming near 
the Arbella with undue haste. We cannot tell 
what ships they are, but they do not belong to this 
fleet. One of the seamen has reported that there 
are Dunkirkers at large, carrying thirty brass 
pieces each. We have not peace yet with Spain. 
They might be planning to capture the Arbella and 
carry the passengers into captivity in Spain, as they 
did not so very long ago with Captain John Smith. 
It is best to be prepared for any danger. We will 
show our enemies, if such they be, that we are not 
without defense.” 

There were few signs of outward fear among the 
women and children. Lady Arbella, Mistress 
Dudley, and Mistress Coddington, and the daugh¬ 
ters of Sir Richard Saltonstall quieted the chil¬ 
dren. Mistress Garrett suggested that they should 


FROM BOSTON 


48 

all recite some of the psalms that their vicar had 
read so often to them. So all joined in the most 
familiar psalm, The Lord is my Shepherd.” 

When orders came to throw overboard some of 
the bedding that might catch fire from any ex¬ 
plosion, there were inward shivers. Suddenly 
there was a loud report and, through the darkened 
port-hole they could yet see the long-continued 
glow of light as it flashed over the water. The 
Captain had shot a ball of wild-fire fastened to an 
arrow. “ The Captain is testing his guns and pro¬ 
claiming his defiance,” said Mistress Dudley. 

Yes, it was very exciting and she had wished for 
some real adventures—yet Hannah thought it 
might be better if they were near those “ green 
pastures and still waters ” that they had been pray¬ 
ing for, instead of in the ocean with wild waves and 
possible pirates about them. 

Hardly had the noise of the firearms subsided 
when there was a sound of laughing outside the 
cabin and Richard Garrett appeared at the door, 
shouting, “All’s well! Never fear! Our enemy 
Dunkirkers prove to be our friends and neighbors. 
’Tis the Little Neptune and her consorts, bound for 
Newfoundland. They are returning our salute. 
The Captain says you may all come on deck. We 
will have a day of rejoicing after our mock-battle.” 


TO BOSTON 


49 

The women trembled a little from the sudden 
reaction from fright to thankfulness. They must 
learn to face dangers and fears in this new ven¬ 
ture. The children were noisy in their release 
from cabin-quiet. 

“ More games and tag on deck,” shouted 
Stephen Winthrop, leading the way. 

Off Land’s End and out “ into the trough of the 
sea ” sailed the Arbella. On Sunday, April elev¬ 
enth, there was such a stiff breeze and high sea that 
there was “ no sermon ” and many were so ill that 
they could not leave their bunks. The Jewel and 
the Ambrose collided, as they learned afterwards, 
without serious damage to either ship. The next 
day was fair with less wind, and the Captain urged 
all who could to come aloft for warmth and exer¬ 
cise. They would more quickly overcome their 
illness. For exercise, the seamen stretched a 
strong rope from the steerage to the mainmast. 
Then the children, and some of the men and 
women who were cold and shivering, stood on 
either side of the rope. They took hold and 
swayed the rope up and down, the sailors urging 
them on and the motion becoming more rapid, 
until they became warm and in good spirits. 

There were days when the decks were wet by 
heavy seas that kept the women and children under 


FROM BOSTON 


SO 

the hatches. If you come on deck,” said Richard 
to Hannah, who begged to go with him, “ you 
might be washed overboard just as the tub was 
yesterday, and so we lost all our fish that was stored 
in it.” 

“ Pm not a fish,” Hannah promptly replied and, 
with equal promptness, Richard answered, ‘‘No, 
if you were, you might swim and escape.” 

For forty days the Arbella had been at sea. 
Sometimes the companion ships, especially the 
Jewel and Ambrose —called their “consorts” by 
the seamen—were near them and the officers would 
come in a skiff, on fair, calm days, and dine with 
Captain Milbourne and the Governor. At other 
times they were lost to sight in the fog and storm. 
During the first two days of May a tempest raged 
and the Captain of the Arbella watched all night; 
Hannah could hear him talking with some of the 
seamen or walking on the decks, making sure that 
there was no leakage or other trouble. The rations 
were getting low, and sometimes the children went 
to bed hungry for more variety of food than they 
could have. 

Another case of “ discipline ” saddened the Gov¬ 
ernor and excited the children. A servant had 
bargained with one of the children for a box of 


TO BOSTON 


51 

cakes, or ‘‘ biscuits ”—three pence for three bis¬ 
cuits a day on the voyage. It was discovered that 
the servant had received about forty of these bis¬ 
cuits and had sold them to other servants. The 
Governor sent for the offender; then he called the 
ship’s company to assemble and gave orders that 
the hands of this servant should be tied up to a bar 
and a basket filled with stones should be hung 
about his neck. So he stood in punishment, for two 
hours as a warning to young and old. 

The older members of the company prayed fer¬ 
vently for land, but they were yet far away from 
their goal. Mr. Phillips and Governor Winthrop 
preached long sermons and the children were 
drilled in their Catechism. Hannah was asked by 
her mother to be prompter for the younger ones. 
Gathering the girls about her—the boys scorned to 
be her pupils—she asked in turn the questions 
which would be asked them on the Sabbath. She 
filled in their hesitating periods with her own 
quick responses to the questions: “Have you 
learned to know who God is? ” “ What must be¬ 

come of you if you are wicked?” To the latter 
question, little Faith lisped her answer: “If I 
am wicked, I shall be sent down to everlasting fire 
in Hell among wicked and miserable creatures.” 
Their imaginations were thrilled by such visions, 


52 


FROM BOSTON 


lurid though they may seem to children of our own 
day, and so perfect was the Catechism that the ^‘rod 
of correction ” was not required for any child on 
the Arbella, 

Another lesson, memorized by Hannah in days 
in old Boston and fitted to the religious mood of 
the ship’s company, was from Taylor’s Thumb 
Bible.” She explained to the younger girls that 
John Taylor was a waterman on the Thames 
River in London, and that he had written Bible 
verses, with Latin titles, that had been printed 
a few years before. A copy of these had been 
in the school where Richard went in Boston 
and he had brought it home and read the verses 
until Hannah had learned some of them. The one 
about the “ plagues in Egypt ” was their favorite 
quotation: 

“ Ten plagues from heav’n are on the Egyptians pour’d, 

Blood, frogs, lice, flies, beasts, scabs, hail thundering shower’d, 
Grasshoppers, darkness, death of first born men 
These were the Egyptian plagues in number ten.” 

“A whale! a whale! Come and see him spout! ” 
shouted Stephen Winthrop one morning in early 
May and the children came running to the edge of 
the deck. Faith brought her doll, her constant 
companion, the parting gift from her aunt, and 
named in her honor, Prudence Truelove. Mother 


TO BOSTON 


53 


had sewn in one eye in place of the blue bead that 
had fallen out when Faith fell down on the ship 
ladder at Yarmouth. To be sure, the new eye was 
brown rather than blue—for Mother had no beads 
except those of dark color—and Richard laughed 
at the battered face with its “ cocked eye,” but the 
doll was very precious to Faith. The deck was 
slippery, and Anna Pollard was crowding against 
Faith so that the little girl fell at the edge of the 
supports. She struck her arm such a hard blow 
that she lost hold of her doll. In a second Pru¬ 
dence Truelove had fallen overboard. Faith was 
heartbroken at the loss of the doll and the fear 
that the whale might devour it. 

Don’t cry. Faith! You shall have my Dutch 
doll that is in the carved chest,” said Hannah con¬ 
solingly. I couldn’t bear to leave it at home, but 
I don’t play with dolls now. And see! the whale 
has disappeared and the doll is still floating on the 
water.” True it was that the cork doll floated until 
it was pulled into a skiff by sailors who were bring¬ 
ing the captains of the Jewel and the Ambrose to 
dine with the Governor. Faith went to bed happy, 
snuggling in her arms the doll that was all the more 
dear to her with its paintless face and water-soiled 
clothes. 

In a dense fog, on June first, a baby was born on 


54 


FROM BOSTON 


the Arbella, It was well-named Endurance,” 
for such had been the quality of its mother on this 
long passage. A week later a large pigeon 
alighted, in sudden flight, upon the sails, and the 
sailors knew that land was near. Yes—land was in 
sight—not very near, but visible through the strong 
glasses. Rocks could be seen and a few trees. 
Captain Milbourne thought it was Mount Mon- 
hegan, but it was Mount Desert, as it was called 
later. The sea was calm and some seamen went 
off in a skiff and caught seventy-six cod-fish, “ some 
of them a yard and a half long,” they reported. 
With this fine catch,” new zest whetted the appe¬ 
tites of the weary voyagers, especially among the 
women. A real feast was prepared with fresh 
fish, some dried pease and biscuits, and a small 
supply of beer. When they lifted sail again they 
were yet closer to land, passing the Three Turks’ 
Head, and Governor Winthrop said, in thanksgiv¬ 
ing, The smell of the shore will be like that of a 
garden.” 


TO BOSTON 


55 


CHAPTER IV 

ADVENTURES IN OLD SALEM 

“An Indian! A real Indian! He’s coming 
to the ship,” called Stephen Winthrop to Hannah 
and the other girls who were playing “ Little Sally 
Waters,” on the sunny side of the deck. “ Little 
Sally ” was left with her tune and game incom¬ 
plete, as they rushed forward to the prow. Yes! 
There was a tall Indian, standing up in a little 
boat—Richard called it a canoe. He had a head¬ 
dress with many colored feathers that came far 
down over his leather suit, even to- his fringed 
leggins. With him were two companions, without 
the feathers; one of them had a skin of some large 
animal fastened on his shoulder. The Indians were 
talking in loud tones and pointing towards the chil¬ 
dren on the Arbella; sometimes they gave loud 
“ Ughs.” Richard was anxious to get a musket and 
parade with it on his shoulder. 

“ Is this Indian coming as a friend or an 
enemy? ” asked Governor Winthrop of Captain 
Milbourne, as they watched the canoe approach. 

“ This is a visit of greeting,” was the Captain’s 



56 


FROM BOSTON 


answer. ^^See! He comes only with two com¬ 
panions, and the chief is in gala attire. I think he 
is Masconomo, the Sagamore of the Indians at 
Agawam on Cape Ann.” 

“What did I tell you?” said Hannah, turning 
towards Richard. “ I said we should find some 
Indians who were friendly. They are not all eager 
to scalp us, as you seem to think they are. Mayhap 
we shall find them more ready to help us.” 

“ And mayhap,” teased Richard, “ we shall find 
many others who will like nothing better than to 
cut off your long curls and a slice of your scalp— 
and carry you away into captivity.” 

“ Hush, Richard,” warned his father who had 
joined the children as the Sagamore came aloft, 
smiling and bowing before Governor Winthrop, 
and saying, “Welcome, Englishmen!” 

“ You are welcome. Sagamore, and we will 
smoke the pipe of peace if you will join us at din¬ 
ner,” said Governor Winthrop with a hearty smile. 

Masconomo spoke to one of his companions who 
slid down the side of the ship, with quick motions, 
and brought back from the canoe two beaver skins 
with much fur on them. The Sagamore held these 
towards the Governor who thought they were a 
^ gift and was about to thank the Indian when Cap¬ 
tain Milbourne explained that, probably, the In- 


TO BOSTON 


57 

dian wished, not to give the skins but to barter them 
for beads or other adornments. He added that 
they were especially fond of any earrings or orna¬ 
ments in the form of birds or beasts. 

You might give them your blue-bird locket,’^ 
laughed Richard as Hannah came forward to see 
the skins. For a second she was afraid they might 
find her precious jewelry—but she was sure 
Mother had locked it in the chest. Then Isaac 
Johnson, who had gone below when the Indian 
offered the skins, returned and held towards the 
Sagamore two knives and a necklace of beads. To 
the Captain he said, I will gladly exchange these 
for the warm skins for Lady Arbella.” 

The Indians remained all day aboard the ship, 
smoking with the Captain and speaking a few 
words in English to the Governor, Thomas Dud¬ 
ley, and Isaac Johnson. The children were inter¬ 
ested in the paint on the face of the Sagamore and 
the strange designs on his leggins and shoes that 
were called moccasins. I wonder if Father will 
make shoes like those,” Hannah queried to her 
mother. If he does, I am sure I could embroider 
them with beads and those queer quills, if we could 
find some like them.” One of the Indians seemed 
much interested in a top that Richard was whit¬ 
tling from a piece of wood. Richard was an expert 


FROM BOSTON 


58 

at such work, and the top was soon smooth and 
well-pointed. The Indian slid down the ship’s side 
again, and came back from the canoe with a pair 
of bone dice which he handed towards Richard, 
with one hand, holding out the other hand to indi¬ 
cate that he would make an exchange. 

The ship, the Lyon, with Captain Pierce, was 
already in Salem Harbor, where it had arrived a 
few days before the Arbella, Governor Endicott 
came with this Captain to call upon Governor 
Winthrop the day after the visit of the Indians. 
On his invitation the Governor, Thomas Dudley 
and some other men and a few of the gentle¬ 
women ” went ashore the next day to “ sup on good 
venison and beer ” at the home of Governor Endi¬ 
cott. Lady Arbella remained on shore, as did 
Mistress Coddington and Mistress Dudley. Mean¬ 
while in another small boat, other women and many 
of the children were taken to land for a few hours. 
They found some wild strawberries which they 
gathered—and ate with great relish. How good it 
was to skip and run on the sandy shore. They 
rolled on the grass and plucked sprays of wild roses 
that grew among the rocks. Pink and fragrant 
roses! They might almost think they were again 
in England—only the roses were smaller and the 
petals dropped off more quickly. The girls tossed 





Held towards the Sagamore two knives and a necklace 

OF BEADS, —Page 57 . 







TO BOSTON 


59 

off their hoods and ran races. Faith Garrett forgot 
to put on her hood again, and it was not missed 
until they returned to the Arbella. Her mother 
was so happy at their safety and release from the 
ship that she did not reprove the little girl for 
carelessness. 

A salute of five pieces of ordnance the next day, 
June 14th, at midday, announced the formal arrival 
of the Arbella in Salem Harbor. Gradually the 
voyagers were taken to land, with their goods, as 
fast as lodgings and supplies could be found for 
them. ‘‘ Such store of food as we can share shall 
be yours,” said Governor Endicott to his comrade. 
Governor Winthrop. Our numbers, unhappily, 
exceed our resources. Some of the ships that have 
arrived during the last six months have failed to 
unload their provisions and cattle here but shipped 
them to Virginia and elsewhere. In truth, we shall 
be compelled to release many of our bound serv¬ 
ants, whose passage has been paid from England, 
and send them back, because we cannot give them 
food and shelter. However,4here is an abundance 
of fish and lobsters, and berries of many kinds for 
the children to gather. Soon there will be nuts and 
wild plums and elderberries so that our good 
wives can make wine for us.” 


6 o 


FROM BOSTON 


“ Forget not the tonic of our dry, clear air and 
sunshine,” said the teacher of the Salem colony, 
Francis Higginson, who had joined the two Gov¬ 
ernors. A sup of New England air is better 
than a whole draught of old England’s ale.” 

“ The supply of ‘ old England’s ale ’ and other 
food is scarce in the Arbella,” whispered Richard 
Garrett to William Coddington. “ However, the 
Whale will soon be here with some of our supplies. 
As soon as we land our women and children, we 
might make up a posse of men with muskets and 
bag some of the wild fowl about here. Increase 
Nowell says they are plentiful about Naumkeag, 
or Salem as they call it now, so he was told by 
Peter Palfrey yesterday. The men go a-fowling in 
canoes like those of the Indians, made of pine-trees, 
scooped out about two feet wide.” 

“ May I go a-fowling with you. Father? ” asked 
young Richard. “ I can shoot and hit the mark.” 

“ Later, perhaps, you may go with us but now 
you are needed, with Samuel Dudley and the other 
older boys, to help the women unload their goods 
and to put up tents and shelters. There seemed to 
be only a few houses, besides that of Governor 
Endicott in the settlement, in spite of favorable re¬ 
ports of this ‘ goodly land ’ that we heard in Eng¬ 
land.” 


TO BOSTON 


6 i 


“ The boys can go out with the fishermen and 
gather lobsters,” said William Coddington, “ for 
they are plentiful in June and July, and full of 
juicy meat.” 

Governor Endicott, who had joined the group 
added his word, with a friendly hand on Richard’s 
shoulder: ‘‘The older lads can cut pine branches 
to use at night for fire-knots and for warmth on 
cold, rainy days. They serve, also, to scare away 
the wolves from the cattle at nightfall.” 

“ Yet another service they have,”—it was Francis 
Higginson who spoke—“ to smoke out the small 
gnats, that the Indians call muskeetoes. They 
swarm in the early summer. If they get into the 
cabins at night they are a sore nuisance, especially 
when they bite young children.” 

“ We from old Boston know this pest well,” re¬ 
joined Garrett. “ They are found around the fens 
of Lincolnshire. That will be another condition 
to make us feel at home—but less welcome than 
the fragrant wild roses. That must be an Indian 
encampment across the creek from the settlement.” 

In tents of cloth and shelters, made by bending 
cedar boughs and hanging rugs and mats before 
the entrance, the men and older children were to 
be housed in this new settlement. As they ap¬ 
proached the land, in the shallop, they saw cliffs 


62 


FROM BOSTON 


and fissures and a wide beach on which some of the 
Salem boys and girls were gathering clams. 

“ Raccoons like to dig clams,” said the seaman 
who was piloting the skiff. 

“ What are raccoons? ” Hannah asked, with that 
promptness that always indicated her keen interest. 

“ They are queer-looking animals, generally 
grey with some spots of black and white and a very 
bushy tail. They climb trees and are friendly. 
The Indians sometimes keep them in their wig¬ 
wams as pets. At moonlight they come to the 
beaches and dig clams with their long claws.” 

What an exciting place this new land must be, 
thought Hannah, with real Indians and wolves and 
raccoons. She hoped there would be some dogs 
and cats, for she missed her Tabby. May I sleep 
in a tent, and may I go with Richard to gather 
lobsters?” she asked her father, eager for some 
mild adventures. 

Nay, you and Faith will remain with Mother 
in one of the houses, for Mother must care for 
Lady Arbella. But you can dig clams and gather 
seaweed for Mother to use in making jelly.” 

“ Anna Pollard says she will be the first to step 
ashore, as Mary Chilton did at Plymouth,” per¬ 
sisted Hannah, but I hope I can be the first.” 

Anna Pollard is a romping girl, and you will 


TO BOSTON 


63 

stay with Faith and keep fast hold of her hand, so 
she or you may not fall into the water. You will 
find adventures enough in this new land, little 
daughter, without seeking dangers,’’ and her father 
smiled at the flushed face of the excited girl. 

As Governor Endicott had said, the supplies of 
food at Naumkeag were scanty, with the exception 
of fish, fowl and berries. The name of the place, 
Salem, meant bosom of consolation ”—but there 
was much sickness there. Dr. Samuel Fuller had 
come from Plymouth, to care for the ill people, but 
his supplies of medicine were meagre. Often he 
could only resort to “ blood-letting ” to reduce 
fevers. We need more juice of lemons and bitter 
herbs,” he said, “ but soon sassafras will be ready 
to gather. Dandelions are good for children, when 
boiled and seasoned. The newcomers like not the 
taste of Indian corn, and they wish for the oatmeal 
and grains of old England. But this corn has 
agreed well with the health of the Plymouth set¬ 
tlers, and may be cooked in many ways.” 

The extreme heat of late June and early July 
was hard on the women, for their vitality had been 
reduced by the seventy-six days aboard ship. The 
children were urged by Dr. Fuller and their 
mothers to find shade under the trees on the hill- 


FROM BOSTON 


64 

sides, or to stay in their tents during the heat of 
midday. Samuel Dudley who was one of the most 
efficient young men—(he was to marry Mary 
Winthrop, the daughter of the Governor, when 
she should come with her mother the next year) 
—was the first victim of sunstroke. He was obliged 
to stay in bed for several days while his mother 
and sister, Patience, with Hannah to help them, 
filled leather bottles with cold water for compresses 
on his head. 

“ Petals three, let them be,” said Dr. Fuller one 
afternoon to Hannah when she came in with a 
badly swollen, throbbing hand. Poison ivy ” was 
its cause, he explained—^with its three petals and 
shining leaves—and it grew among the rocks where 
the children often gathered roses and honeysuckles. 

Put some damp sand on it, and a little of this 
balsam,” said the good doctor, and don^t rub it, 
for the poison will spread, if you do.” Not such 
an easy lesson to remember, as Hannah found to 
her sorrow when the other hand began to swell. 

“ Let’s go down to the rocky shore and play 
‘ stone tag,’ after the sun goes down,” said Stephen 
Winthrop, always eager to help both in work and 
play. Yes, that would be better than just to sit 
down and think how much her hands burned. 
There were some big, flat stones that served as 


TO BOSTON 


65 

“ gools ” in this tag game, and several could play at 
a time. Hannah had made a new friend in Desire, 
the daughter of John Hewson, the Salem shoe¬ 
maker, and she came with two other girls and a 
jolly boy, named Jeremiah Trask. His father was 
the drummer of the colony, and had a sorrel horse 
which he promised Richard he might ride some 
day as far as the Three Turks’ Head. He told 
Hannah, who still mourned for her Tabby, that 
he could get a kitten for her from Mistress Anne 
Dixy, and she went to sleep with happy thoughts, 
in spite of itching fingers. 

On a sultry day when the sun was veiled in 
clouds, the children were on the beach, gathering 
sea-moss and shells. Hannah and Desire had led 
the others to the singing beach ” where, by mov¬ 
ing their feet slowly in the sand, they could make 
a sound almost like that of music. This was due. 
Desire explained, to some “ metal ” in the sand at 
this beach. Their shoes were soon filled with sand 
and they sat down, in the shade of an oak-tree 
above the beach, to shake this out. “ Father will 
have to make me some new shoes soon,” Hannah 
said, as she looked at the soles that were becoming 
frayed and thin by so much exploring of this new 
country. He is too busy helping the Governor 
just now to make shoes, for he has gone with him 




66 


FROM BOSTON 


and three other men to find some other place for 
our settlement, so Mother told us this morning.’’ 

Would that mean you would go away from 
Salem? ” asked Desire Hewson, with troubled 
voice at the thought of losing her new-found play¬ 
mate. 

“Yes, I hear we are all to go to a place called 
Mishawum, or Charlestown, where there are 
more houses and more food. I wish you could 
come with us.” 

“ Oh, I know where that place is. Roger Conant 
and Thomas Graves went there from Salem and 
Father says they have ‘ a great house ’ there and 
will build a house for Governor Winthrop. But 
I’m hungry. Let’s eat our lunch.” 

They had been given some biscuits and lobster, 
including several of the lobster claws. The juicy, 
milky taste of the latter appealed especially to the 
children; it was such fun to suck these “funny 
claws ”—almost like having milk. The air grew 
hotter and more humid. The dark clouds were 
gathering in the southwest and distant rumblings 
were heard. 

“ I wonder if Richard and the fishermen will be 
caught in a thunder-storm,” Hannah queried. 
“ They have gone to the fishing-banks off Marble 
Haven where they heard sturgeon could be found; 


TO BOSTON 


67 

they would ship back some of this fish to England 
when the Arbella returns. Oh, that thunder 
shower is coming near! We had better run home.” 

“ There is a small boat away off from shore, but 
coming this way. Perhaps Richard is in that,” 
said Stephen Winthrop as they all ran for shelter. 
As he spoke a loud report of thunder followed 
closely upon a flash of blinding lightning. They 
stopped for a moment under the jutting edge of a 
rock, but Hannah urged them on to a tent that 
they could see in a near-by field. Then came an¬ 
other bolt that struck the water and seemed to 
break into a dozen sparks of brilliant fire. The 
children screamed, but Hannah said they were in 
no danger—only they must run because it would 
rain soon and they would get wet. The grass was 
tall and stiff, and she almost lifted Faith over the 
reeds. 

There was not a moment to lose; the rain was 
beginning to fall in a few big drops, and a sudden 
gale of wind was bending the grasses and the tops 
of the birch-trees and shrubs. Thunder seemed to 
come from two directions at once. Hannah re¬ 
called a day in old Boston, the previous summer, 
when Hussey Tower and the Guildhall had been 
struck in a fearful storm that Mother called “ the 
meeting of two angry thunder-clouds ”—but 


68 


FROM BOSTON 


Father told her they were not “ angry,” only filled 
with hot air that exploded in the heat. 

‘‘ I was worried about you and the children, 
Hannah,” was her mother’s greeting to her when 
the storm had passed and a beautiful rainbow was 
seen as the sun shone through the dark clouds. 

I’m glad you took shelter in the tent. I suppose 
Richard is back safely? ” 

Should she tell her mother that she feared Rich¬ 
ard had been out in the storm and, perhaps, was not 
yet back in the harbor? She decided not to answer 
the question for the moment, for her mother was 
already anxious about Lady Arbella’s increasing 
weakness. 

It was well that Mistress Garrett did not know 
what danger threatened Richard when the storm 
broke. The small shallop with its one sail was 
making good headway towards the harbor when 
the sudden gale struck it and nearly tipped it over. 
The boat leaped up and down, at the mercy of the 
wind and waves. Salt spray blinded the eyes of 
the pilot and the men. It grew so dark they could 
see only in the flashes of lightning. Richard won¬ 
dered if there were sharks in that deep water into 
which he expected, every moment, to be tossed. 
He thought of his father and his mother and he 
tried to remember some Bible texts that John 


TO BOSTON 


69 

Cotton had taught the boys at Saint Botolph’s. The 
boat was filling with water. Suddenly it capsized 
and the men, with the supply of fish, were thrown 
into the sea. 

As Richard sank, he tried to hold his breath and 
to close his mouth, as the boys were taught to do 
when they were given swimming lessons in the 
river Witham, in old Boston. He was rising now 
but, probably, he would sink again twice—and 
then he would surely drown. If only he could 
catch hold of the shallop’s edge or swim, as he saw 
two of the men were doing. He felt a grip on his 
shoulder and he was dragged into—not their shal¬ 
lop but another skiff in which he saw Increase 
Nowell at the helm, trying to keep the boat from 
upsetting in the heavy sea and wild wind. . They 
had seen the shallop struck by the gale and had 
come to the rescue. Richard remembered now that 
he had thought some one called his name, as he 
sank into the water—but he feared it was only a 
dream. Now he knew the voice—that of Samuel 
Dudley, who was pulling him into the little boat 
and rubbing his hands and legs. He tried to speak, 
but he found himself faint and shivering. 

Dry clothes were given to Richard and his com¬ 
panions, with warm broth and a flagon of ale. Not 
until he was all over his dizziness was his mother 


70 


FROM BOSTON 


told of his danger and escape. She cried a little 
from thanksgiving and said a psalm of gratitude, 
as the family gathered for the evening prayers, 
led by Mr. Skelton. Hannah kept close be¬ 
side Richard and tried to hold his hand that 
seemed very cold. She realized how much she 
loved this big, teasing brother. ^‘To think, 
Richard, that you might have been drowned,” she 
said, with a catch in her voice, but he answered, 
with a return of his bravado, Well, I wasn’t— 
but we lost the big fish we caught, and that is too 
bad.” 

Governor Winthrop and his deputy, Thomas 
Dudley, had returned from Charlestown with 
report of better lodgings and more food. The 
Indians are very friendly there and will barter 
with us for corn and venison,” Dudley assured 
those who had gathered to hear their report. The 
transportation would take many days, perhaps even 
weeks, for the log-houses must be built and goods 
stored before the families came in large numbers. 
“ The Arbella and the Lyon, whose Captain Pierce 
is our good friend, will help us to make this change 
of location.” 

But before Governor Winthrop should leave 
Salem permanently, Governor Endicott had a 
pleasant mission for him to perform. In the 


TO BOSTON 


71 

fleet had come Mistress Elizabeth Gibson of 
Cambridge, England, and she was to marry the 
Salem Governor, who had lost his first wife the 
previous winter. Masconomo had brought into 
the colony, to the Governor’s house, a haunch of 
venison and some freshly-caught bass. He was in¬ 
vited to return the next day for the marriage, to be 
performed by Governor Winthrop and John Wil¬ 
son. A feast for the families of the “ gentlefolks,” 
including their children, was to follow. As Mis¬ 
tress Garrett was the companion and nurse of Lady 
Arbella, she and her older children were invited 
by Isaac Johnson to join him at the wedding feast. 

Hannah was permitted to wear her very best ” 
petticoat and lace collar, with her blue-bird locket 
on the gold chain. The bride was so lovely in her 
dainty, embroidered lace cap and mitts, and her 
satin shoes, that Hannah found it hard to keep her 
eyes on her trencher. They had curds and 
cheeses ” after the meat and fish had been eaten. 
The Governor drank a toast ”—and made a 
rather long speech—in honor of the newly-married 
friends. Then all sang the Doxology and the guns 
sounded the sunset boom, with an extra salute of 
honor for Mistress Endicott. 

It was still light, although the sun was setting— 
for the summer solstice was just past. Mistress 


72 


FROM BOSTON 


Garrett returned to her patient and Hannah wan¬ 
dered along the path for a little walk before she 
went back to take off her best gown and her treas¬ 
ured jewel. She would be very careful not to stub 
her toe or get too much sand in her silken shoes. 
Perhaps she had better walk along the highway 
and say “ Good-night to Desire Hewson and show 
her the blue-bird locket—for she had not been 
invited to the wedding feast. 

Mistress Hewson said that Desire and her older 
sister had gone for a walk towards the west; she 
would probably find them near “ Wigwam Rock.” 
Already this odd-shaped rock had become a favor¬ 
ite resort for the children. It was well named, for 
its sides (about fourteen feet high) rose at an angle 
into a peak so that, from a distance, it looked just 
like a wigwam. The Indians often came thither 
to meet each other, or to transact any business with 
the white settlers in Salem or vicinity. Francis 
Higginson had told the young people, in one of his 
lessons, that the Indians regarded rocks with a 
special reverence. They believed that the spirit of 
their god, the Great Spirit, Manitou, rested upon 
the rocks, so that they shared in spirit, if not in 
words, the Biblical text: “The Lord is my Rock 
and my Defense.” 

As Hannah hurried along towards the Wigwam 


TO BOSTON 


73 

Rock, she could see Desire and two other girls 
standing at one side of it; on the other side there 
seemed to be a group of Indian maidens sitting on 
the ground, with two tall Indian youths standing 
close beside them. What was happening? Had 
she better turn around and go home—or should she 
join Desire and her sister? It was still light and 
there could be no danger or these friends would 
not be lingering there. She could hear shouts of 
laughter and gay tones from the Indians. She had 
seen several of the sannups and squaws about the 
Salem community to-day; they had doubtless come 
with Masconomo for the wedding feast and had 
been waiting for him to give signal for his return 
to Agawam. 

Coming nearer, she saw that the Indian women 
were playing a game of chance. She remembered 
that Francis Higginson had said they would all of 
them—Indian men and women—wager all they 
had in such games. Breathless, Hannah joined 
Desire and her sister and Anna Pollard. They 
greeted her quietly but were intent on watching 
the game of dice, which were made of bone or pol¬ 
ished wood, with mystic marks on each side. The 
Indians took turns in tossing these dice up from a 
small basket, then noting the marks on the top side 
as the dice fell and thus keeping their “ scores.” 


74 


FROM BOSTON 


They looked at Hannah casually but paid no at¬ 
tention to the white girls, so eager were they on 
their own luck. At each throw there was more 
loud laughter and exclamations. One of the In¬ 
dian youths seemed to be “ keeping score ” by mak¬ 
ing cuts with a knife upon one of his arrows. 

It was growing a bit dusky, and Hannah won¬ 
dered how soon Desire would be ready to go home. 
She wanted to show her the locket and tell her 
about the bride—but she could not wait much 
longer lest her mother would worry, should she 
miss her from the tent where she slept with Faith 
and Patience Dudley. Suddenly, one of the In¬ 
dian girls whose “ turn ” had expired at the dice 
with evident ill-luck, looked keenly at Hannah, 
then called the attention of two other Indian 
maidens, who paused in their game, as she talked 
in a loud, excited tone, and pointed towards the 
white girls. 

Come, let’s go home! ” said Hannah and was 
turning about when she realized that two of the 
squaws were coming close to her, even were touch¬ 
ing her neck and trying to turn her around. Her 
first impulse was to run—then she remembered 
that Captain Milbourne had told them, on ship¬ 
board, that they should never run away from the 
Indians, who approached them, for two reasons: 


TO BOSTON 


75 

first, they would resent this as an insult to their 
pride and friendliness; second, Indians would out¬ 
run them if they had other intentions, and they 
could not escape in that way. Yes, she knew now 
—too late—^what was exciting these Indian maid¬ 
ens: it was her blue-bird locket. By this time 
they were all looking intently at the locket, talking 
in loud tones—and even the Indian youths were 
moving towards the girls. 

Quickly they expressed their meaning in panto¬ 
mime. The girl who held the basket, in which 
were the dice, came forward and offered these in 
one hand to Hannah, holding out the other hand 
towards the locket. Another girl took off her 
moccasins—they were richly embroidered with 
beads—and offered them in the basket. Hannah 
shook her head and Desire tried to separate her 
from the two Indian squaws and lead her away 
but they followed close beside her, still talking, 
gesticulating and sometimes frowning. Another 
squaw took off her embroidered girdle, in which 
was fastened some wampum, or their money ex¬ 
change, and added this to the assortment of the 
barter. 

It is because the locket has the shape of a bird,’’ 
said Desire, for the Indians believe that all jew¬ 
elry or embroideries or decorations in the forms of 




FROM BOSTON 


76 

birds or beasts will bring them good luck. But 
they are friendly; they will not bother us if we 
walk away before it gets dark.” 

Dogged persistence is an Indian trait. Instead 
of returning to their game the Indians were all 
coming with Hannah, crowding about and talking 
fast, with many looks towards the coveted locket. 
What should she do? She felt like crying but this 
would be useless and might be harmful, for the 
Indians scorn all signs of suffering. Probably they 
would follow her and her friends into the settle¬ 
ment and, perhaps, might call other Indians and 
attack them. Doubtless, they would take her into 
captivity, as Richard had warned her. By this 
time her frightened imagination had overcome 
both her reason and her courage. She saw her¬ 
self—and her beautiful blue-bird locket — the 
victims of sacrifice. With a sudden impulse, she 
unclasped the gold chain, took off the locket and 
tossed it into the basket that was carried by the 
squaw who was nearest to her side. She then hur¬ 
ried after Desire and Anna who had been moving 
down the hillside, with a plan to get Richard or 
some of the men to scare away the Indians who 
were surrounding Hannah. 

At last she could cry—and she did in smothered 
sobs. She was clasping in her hand the precious 


TO BOSTON 


77 

gold chain —that had belonged to her mother. The 
girls reached the settlement as darkness was coming 
upon them. They found their families much dis¬ 
turbed because the girls had been missed and only 
Desire’s mother knew where they had gone. Rich¬ 
ard and Samuel Dudley had started along the shore 
with their muskets. Stephen Winthrop ran after 
them to report the safe return of Hannah. When 
Richard saw her tears he delayed his scolding— 
that he had prepared for this ‘^gadfly sister”— 
and inquired what had happened. His first im¬ 
pulse was to take his musket and find the Indians, 
demanding the immediate return of the locket but 
Samuel Dudley was wiser and urged delay until 
the next day. Then his father, the deputy-gov¬ 
ernor, would talk with Masconomo, and one of his 
sannups who knew some English, and they would 
“ barter ” back the locket for some other jewelry. 
The plan worked well—for Isaac Johnson, when 
he heard the story, brought one of Lady Arbella’s 
silver bracelets, with an owl on the clasp, as ex¬ 
change. “ They will gladly give back a blue-bird 
for an owl,” he said. To them the eagles and the 
owls are the birds of greatest reverence and good 
omen.” 

Hannah did not sleep soundly for a few nights 
after her adventure.” The blue-bird locket had 


78 FROM BOSTON 

come back safely and was stored in her mother’s 
carved chest. She was sure she would not ask to 
wear it again for a long, long time. Sometimes she 
heard the owls screech and the wolves howl. De¬ 
sire told her that the wolves were especially savage 
when a red calf was born and the owner had to 
keep pine-knots burning all night, to scare them 
away. “ That is why red calves are sold so quickly 
here and taken back to England, while black calves 
are a blessing, and often a pet,” she said. Hannah 
wondered if Indians ever did “prowl about” or 
take children captives. She hoped that in Charles¬ 
town there would be a fort like the one in Plym¬ 
outh that Dr. Fuller told her father about. Then 
she fell asleep and dreamed that she was carrying 
a little musket, beside Richard with his larger one, 
as they were walking up the hillside to the fort. 
On the top of the fort was a beacon light, throwing 
its beams far out at sea, just as there was on Saint 
Botolph’s church in her home-town across the 


ocean. 


TO BOSTON 


79 


CHAPTER V 

HOME-MAKING IN CHARLESTOWN AND BOSTON 

It was hard to say “ Good-bye ” to Desire and 
the Salem friends, and especially to her mother 
who remained, with Faith, to care for Lady Ar- 
bella. Hannah felt very proud and full of re¬ 
sponsibility when her father said: Lassie, when 
we come to the new settlement on the ^ neck of 
land ’ at Mishawum, or Charlestown, you will 
have to take your mother’s place and cook and 
mend for me and Richard.” 

I can cook fish and lobsters already and make 
a salad of greens,” she replied cheerfully. “ And I 
could make a gooseberry tart if I had gooseberries 
and wheat flour.” 

Mistress Dudley promised to “ have a care ” for 
Hannah. Her daughter, Anne, who had mar¬ 
ried Simon Bradstreet and was only five years older 
than Hannah, showed her many kindnesses. She 
invited the young girl to come often to see her in 
the house on the hillside above Charlestown dock. 
One of the delights of these visits for Hannah was 
the knowledge that she gained from Anne Brad- 
street about English history, and especially about 


8 o 


FROM BOSTON 


Sir Philip Sidney. Some day I shall write a 
poem about this hero who died at the siege of 
Zutphen in 1586,’’ she told Hannah. ‘‘Already I 
have composed one stanza of an Ode to him.’^ 

“ Oh, will you recite it to me? ’’ asked the eager 
girl. 

“ Yes, but the tribute is not worthy of the hero: 
I shall write more and, I trust, better verses. Here 
is one verse: 

“ ‘ When England did enjoy her halcyon days, 

Her noble Sidney wore the crown of bays, 

As well an honor to our British land 

As she who swayed the sceptre with her hand.’ 

Do you know who did ‘ sway the sceptre ’ then? ” 
“ Oh, yes, for Sidney was a knight in the days of 
Queen Elizabeth—and Walter Raleigh was an¬ 
other knight and brave warrior of that time. Per¬ 
haps you will write some poetry about him.” 

There were lonely hours for Hannah in the log- 
house where she cooked and polished her skillet 
and kept the floor clean and well-sanded. Her 
father and Richard were away from home nearly 
all the day, hewing timber for more log-houses and 
helping Thomas Graves and his men to set up the 
frame for the Governor’s house. She would have 
been more lonely without the companionship of 
the kitten that, true to his word, Jeremiah Trask 


TO BOSTON 


8 i 


had begged for her from Mistress Anne Dixy. She 
was not a pretty maltese cat, as was the Tabby in 
old Boston; she was light yellow in color and was 
often dirty, in spite of her incessant use of her 
tongue. She was very playful, however, and found 
amusement in jumping up and snarling Hannah’s 
yarn when she was knitting or winding it over the 
back of the chair. Richard had promised to 
whittle for her a wooden winder, like one that 
Mistress Dudley had—but he had been too busy 
helping the men to find time for such household 
tasks. 

Another playmate for Hannah was a grey squir¬ 
rel that lived neighbor to her. He looked very 
thin and hungry, as he swung himself from one 
tree to another where the boughs interlaced. Nuts 
will be coming soon, squirrel,” so Hannah talked to 
him, and then you can get your winter supply 
and bury them in the ground. I’ll never tell any 
one where they are.” Then she would feed him an 
occasional nut from her own scanty store, packed 
in the basket with the provisions and the kitty that 
she had brought from Salem. He became very 
intimate with the girl and would sit up on his hind 
legs and beg, even when there were no more nuts 
to give. Sometimes he would eat a bit of corn- 
meal bread or a dried pea or bean. On one very 


82 


FROM BOSTON 


hot day when Hannah was sitting on the doorstep 
of the cabin, almost panting for breath, the squirrel 
came close to her and looked anxiously, with his 
head cocked on one side. Then he found a plot of 
grass near by and rolled upon it on his back, run¬ 
ning to Hannah between these cooling efforts. It 
seemed to her as if the squirrel knew how warm 
she was and was suggesting that she might follow 
his example. Yes, that’s one way to ‘ cool off,’ ” 
she laughed as she spoke to him, “ but not for me 
with these homespun clothes on. Perhaps to-night 
Father and Richard will take me down to the beach 
and let me wade.” 

The Whale had come into Charlestown harbor 
with all that remained alive of the cattle and goats. 
The severe winds and storms had caused the ani¬ 
mals to be so tossed about that they injured each 
other, and some died from sickness. Out of two 
hundred, seventy were lost. At the same time, 
there were enough to give milk and meat for the 
Charlestown and Salem settlers. Now Hannah 
could have some milk on her “ corn-meal mush.” 
She was asked to come to Mistress Dudley’s house 
and help in making cheeses. The women were 
annoyed by field-mice when they set the milk, and 
Hannah brought her kitten. She did not prove a 

good mouser,” however, because the mice were 


TO BOSTON 


83 

large and over-bold. I wonder if any one has a 
trap,” asked Mistress Dudley. “ I remember an 
old maxim of Thomas Tusser that my mother 
taught me, when I was making curds in the dairy 
at Sempringham: 

“ * Though cat, a good' mouser, doth dwell m the House, 

Yet ever in dairy, have trap for a mouse.’ ” 

It was to be cooking day ” for Hannah. That 
evening Henry Harwood and his young wife were 
coming to have dinner with her father and Richard 
when they came home from Mistick. Here Rich¬ 
ard had gone to help Governor Winthrop on the 
farm which he was clearing of brush, ready for 
planting in the early spring. Her father had 
brought in a large partridge and Anne Bradstreet’s 
serving-maid had offered to help Hannah prepare 
it for roasting on the spit, in front of their larger 
fireplace. She had given her, also, some cucum¬ 
bers—which she called “ cowcumbers ”—that had 
been sent from Salem with some pease. There 
were blueberries on the bushes just above the Gar¬ 
rett cabin, and Hannah would gather some of these, 
after she had cooked her lobsters. The water was 
already boiling in the pot for the lobsters, as soon 
as William Sprague should bring them from the 
net where he had caught them early that morning. 


FROM BOSTON 


84 

They were sure to be fresh and juicy—she hoped 
they would be large in size, for it was a long task 
to open so many small ones. 

Here they are, miss, and a lively, juicy bunch 
they are,” said the lobsterman, as he placed the 
basket with his prizes on the floor and hurried 
on to other customers. Kitty smelled the fishy odor 
and mewed her approval. My! That basket was 
heavy and the lobsters were so slippery and 
squirmy I Hannah wished some one else were there 
to drop them into the boiling water. Her mother 
had said, if the water were boiling, the lobsters did 
not feel the scalding that they got, so quickly did 
they turn from green to red. Well, the water wm 
boiling—and there was no one else to put them in, 
so she must do it. “ Get out of the way, kitty,” she 
scolded, as the cat almost tripped her up. '^You 
will get scalded—and you wonH turn red before 
you know it—if you keep so close to this boiling 
water. I’m very likely to splash some of the water 
over us both.” 

Two—three—four—all were in safely except 
one last lobster. He was the smallest and seemed 
the liveliest. Hannah thought she had him securely 
by the tail but, in some way, he wriggled out of her 
wet hands—and in a trice, he was over the floor, 
as only an escaped lobster can travel. After him 


TO BOSTON 


85 

romped kitty yet never close enough to touch him, 
for she was a bit chary of this green, slimy fish at 
this stage of his existence. How could Hannah 
ever get that runaway lobster? Every movement 
that she made for him seemed just to miss the mark. 
Once she stepped on kitty’s paw and this called 
forth an angry snarl. She decided to open the door 
of the log-house and let him escape or give the cat 
a chance to catch him, without danger of upsetting 
the kettle of boiling water. As she unlatched the 
door, William Sprague appeared on the scene. In 
a second he saw what was happening, and, with a 
loud laugh, he grabbed the runaway lobster and 
dropped him into the water with his mates. “ In¬ 
venting a new game, are you, Hannah Garrett? ” 
he joked. Better call this ^ Hunt the lobster ’ ! ” 
The dinner was a success, and Hannah, although 
tired and hot, was proud of her father’s praise and 
that of young Mistress Harwood. Richard had 
come home with a swollen face from a wasp’s sting. 
She had put some balsam on the sore spot and 
urged him to let her tie up his face in her clean 
linen kerchief. “ Of course not,” was his some¬ 
what surly response. Who wants a girl’s kerchief? 
My face is all right.” After dinner, Richard 
showed his father and Mr. Harwood some of the 
drawings and charts he had made on pieces of 


86 


FROM BOSTON 


leather which he found among his father’s supplies. 

This Charlestown is a queer place,” he said. 

It looks like the neck, head, and shoulders of a 
man, as you look at it from the shore. There ought 
to be a big monument on this hilltop some day, to 
be seen by ships far out at sea.” 

^‘Yes, with a beacon light on it, like Saint 
Botolph’s,” added Hannah. 

“ We are fortunate to have such a large clearing 
here,” said Mr. Garrett. “ What is our gain is the 
loss of the Indians. Thomas Dudley tells me that 
when the plague swept over their encampments 
ten years ago, it destroyed large numbers; these 
clearings show where they had cut down trees.” 

“ Yes, Richard Sprague says that from five thou¬ 
sand fighting men they were reduced to a few 
hundred,” added Henry Harwood. “ They have 
always been friendly to the white men in these 
parts. They come to watch our workmen, as they 
fill in the gaps in the logs with clay and build stone 
chimneys. Chickatabot is anxious to have a suit of 
English clothes ”—he said with a laugh. 

Hannah became very sleepy before the men 
finished their talk about stone chimneys, and the 
danger of fire from thatched roofs, and the need 
of more workers for the brick kilns of Salem. 
Kitty purred herself to sleep, as they nestled in a 


TO BOSTON 


87 

corner of the rough settle. She must remember to 
get some more mutton grease from Mistress Dud¬ 
ley for Richard’s face on the morrow. It had been 
a busy day, but Father had praised his “ little las¬ 
sie ”—and she hoped Mother would come soon and 
bring Faith, for she missed them at bedtime. She 
would like to see Desire and have some races on 
the beach. She was thirsty and the water from the 
spring at Charlestown had a foul taste, not like 
the clear water at Salem springs. Well, Henry 
Harwood and his wife were going home now—she 
must remember to make her curtsey as Mother 
taught her—and then she could sleep. In the 
morning, life would not seem quite so full of 
troubles. 

August first, in the great house ” (built by Mr. 
Sprague of wooden blocks, with an upper story for 
civil and religious service) was organized the 

first church of Charlestown, numbering sixty- 
four men and one-half as many women.” Far 
more interesting to Hannah was the news, brought 
by William Vassell from Salem, that her mother 
and Faith would come to Charlestown two days 
later. With them would come Isaac Johnson and 
the faithful maid of Lady Arbella, named Deliv¬ 
erance. Lady Arbella had died, never complain- 


88 


FROM BOSTON 


ing but always glad that she had come to this new 
country, always grateful for any kindness shown 
to her. 

In preparation for her mother’s home-coming, 
what could Hannah do to show her happiness—and 
to keep her busy during those two days that were 
sure to seem so long to her? She would polish the 
few brass and pewter dishes; she would gather 
some pine boughs and bunches of those pretty 
white and blue flowers that grew on the slope of 
Copp’s Hill. Patience Dudley said the white 
flowers were called “ Queen’s lace ” and the blue 
ones were chicory. She wished she could make 
that new dish, called succotash, that the Indians 
had taught the white women to make, from corn 
and beans, in a mixture that was boiled with some 
salt pork. Perhaps Mistress Bradstreet, or her 
maidservant, could help her to make a pudding of 
berries or apples that were beginning to ripen in 
the garden of Richard Sprague. 

For Faith, she would make one of the long neck¬ 
laces of pretty shells, strung on a thread, that Mary 
Graves had made for her mother. Perhaps she 
would find some pink shells and other little shiny 
stones that looked like pearls. She would go to 
the beach and poke into the sand with the stick that 
Richard had whittled into a sharp point. Come 


TO BOSTON 


89 

on, kitty!” she called, “we are off for a frolic, 
only you mustn’t climb the trees where the birds’ 
nests are or kill the little ones. That is cruel—and 
I shall punish you by making you wade in the 
water—and how you do hate getting your paws 
wet.” 

Illness at Charlestown was on the increase. 
The wives of William Coddington and George 
Phillips were fatally sick, and so was Dr. Gager 
who had come with them from England. Dr. 
Fuller came from Plymouth and was glad to find 
Hannah so well and so helpful to her father and 
mother. He told her that she was growing tall—a 
fact that gave the girl much pleasure. “ You must 
take good care of your mother, now,” he added, 
“ for she is tired after the care of Lady Arbella 
in Salem.” 

“ Oh, I can rest now,” Mother assured him, “ be¬ 
cause Hannah has shown what a fine housewife she 
is. She can cook many new foods and she has 
made good progress with knitting socks. I am sure 
the good doctor would like some of your home¬ 
brew, Hannah, on this sultry day. Bring in a 
flagon from the bottle hidden behind the rock, in 
the cool earth, before Dr. Fuller starts on his calls 
on the sick at Mistress Coddington’s and Dr. 
Gager’s.” 


90 


FROM BOSTON 


“That is refreshing/’ approved Dr. Fuller, as 
he took a long draught of the bitter brew. “ If 
every one would drink this instead of the water 
from the springs on this hillside, there would be 
less illness here.” 

“What is the trouble with the springs?” in¬ 
quired Mistress Garrett. “ The spring water at 
Salem was clear and cooling.” 

“ So it is—and so are the springs at Plymouth, 
especially that one back of Elder Brewster’s house. 
The springs here at Charlestown overflow in the 
summer and the water becomes foul and brackish, 
so it is impure and has caused many of the 
diseases.” 

There were others besides Dr. Fuller who rea¬ 
lized that Charlestown was not then a healthy 
place for their settlement. Although the frame of 
the Governor’s house had been partly raised, 
there was much talk of finding another site for a 
settlement before winter came upon them. The 
people often looked, with questioning eyes, across 
the Bay towards what was called Shawmut. Here 
seemed to be ample room and only one or two 
scattered huts on the plain, behind which rose three 
hills. Thomas Graves said that he had heard this 
place called “ Trimontaine,” because of the three 
summits. 


TO BOSTON 


91 


While Governor Winthrop and his deputy, 
Thomas Dudley, were debating what would be best 
for the colony, their problem was solved by an 
unexpected visitor. William Blackstone, some¬ 
times spelled Blaxton, who was called the hermit 
of Shawmut,” brought them an invitation to share 
some of his land. Seven years before he had been 
given a grant of eight hundred acres and he used 
only a small parcel of land for his house and 
garden. He would give several plots to those in 
Governor Winthrop’s colony. “ It will be a 
healthy place. There are several bubbling streams 
of clear water about Trimontaine,’’ he said. 
“ Shawmut means ‘ living fountains.’ You will 
have a good harbor, also, for lading ships, and 
abundance of fish in the river.” 

“ Did he come over, riding on his white steer? ” 
asked Hannah when her father narrated the visit, 
as he had heard of it from Henry Harwood. 

white steer? What does the child mean? ” 
he laughed. 

“ I mean just that. Stephen Winthrop told me 
about this ‘hermit of Shawmut’ one day, when 
we were looking across to the three hills. He said 
that he lived almost alone in a big log cabin at 
the foot of one of the hills, and that he always rode 
on a white steer.” 


92 


FROM BOSTON 


“ Mayhap he does, daughter, but his land and 
springs would be of more use to us than the steer 
will ever be.’’ 

Perhaps he would let us ride on it sometimes,” 
she persisted, but Richard sneered at her and 
Mother shook her head. 

“ It would be an adventure, anyway,” was Han¬ 
nah’s last word on the subject. 

Before decision was reached on William Black- 
stone’s offer of land, a conference was called at 
V Charlestown for that and other matters of 
weighty importance. Governor Endicott came 
from Salem with Mr. Skelton, the minister, and 
Governor Bradford came from Plymouth with 
Elder Brewster, Captain Miles Standish and his 
lieutenant, John Alden. They were to meet in the 
“ great house ” but the dinner was to be served 
outdoors, under the cluster of trees where John 
Wilson read the prayers and Rev. Francis Bright 
preached the sermons on Lord’s Day. Great prep¬ 
arations were made from such scanty supplies as 
the Charlestown settlers could afford. Some veni¬ 
son from Salem and a hogshead of corn meal from 
Plymouth, with fresh vegetables and some juicy 
raspberries, were added to the lobsters and fish 
from their own seashore. Isaac Johnson had a 
small quantity of Canary wine, from the casks 





Dinner was to be served 


OUTDOORS. —Page 9 , 2 . 







TO BOSTON 


93 

brought in the Arbella, and this was reserved for 
the Governors and their deputies. 

There is one person I want to see even more 
than Governor Bradford—and that is Captain 
Miles Standish,” announced Richard on the morn¬ 
ing of the conference. Thomas Graves is giving 
all of us who work for him a holiday. I may have 
a chance to ‘ sound the drum,’ for Increase Nowell 
is sick and Samuel Dudley says I can sound it with 
good measures.” 

Why would you sound the drum to-day? ” his 
mother asked. 

To call the people down to the dock to Wel¬ 
come those from Plymouth. I wish we might form 
a conipany with a few muskets and march down to 
meet Captain Standish. He is a great fighter.” 

“ I would rather see John Alden,” was Hannah’s 
decision. “ He won Priscilla Mullens for his 
wife—and Prudence Starr said she was the most 
beautiful girl in all the Plymouth colony.” 

“ Silly! ” scoffed Richard. “ What good would 
her beauty have done if the ^ doughty captain ’ had 
not been on hand to keep off the prowling Indians 
and protect the colony? ” 

There you are talking again about ^ prowling 
Indians I ’ Sometimes I think you are disappointed, 
Richard, because we have escaped capture and 


94 


FROM BOSTON 


scalping thus far,’’ Hannah said in teasing tone— 
but Richard was ready with his answering taunt: 

How about the blue-bird locket and the ^ sac¬ 
rifice ’ ? But I’m off to see Miles Standish! ” 

“ May I go, too. Mother? ” asked Hannah and 
Faith in one sentence. 

“ Not just now, daughters, but we will go later 
to help Mistress Dudley and Anne Bradstreet in 
serving the men at the dinner. Hannah, you can 
help me make some cheese-cakes while Faith puts 
away the porridge and washes the wooden trench¬ 
ers and spoons.” 

It was a long conference—for after much dis¬ 
cussion about the change of location from Charles¬ 
town to Shawmut, with intervals of prayers, there 
was another serious problem that confronted the 
Governors and their councils. This was brought 
to their attention by Governor Bradford and Elder 
Brewster. Should John Billington of Plymouth 
be put to death for the deliberate murder of John 
Newcomen? They had had a quarrel, but Billing¬ 
ton had waited, and then had struck a fatal blow. 
This ,was the first time, during the ten years of 
companionship among the Plymouth settlers, that 
such a crime had been committed. 

Elder Brewster and Governor Bradford were 
gentle in their judgments, and yet they realized the 


TO BOSTON 


95 

truth of Miles Standish’s words: Such an offense 
should be dealt with severely.” The Billington 
family had caused trouble to the Plymouth colo¬ 
nists in many ways. The father, who was the 
murderer, had been guilty of blasphemy and bad 
influence against authority, both that of the Gover¬ 
nor and the Captain. His wife was an untidy, 
scolding woman. The boys had teased the Indian 
women and alarmed the colony by running away. 
A jury had tried the case and found John Billing¬ 
ton guilty of “ wanton murder.” What should be 
the penalty? 

Who killeth man, by man shall his blood be 
shed. It is the law of God,” said Governor 
Endicott We cannot escape—the wages of sin 
is death.” 

Hannah shivered at night, when she had heard 
her father talk about this murder in cold blood,” 
and that John Billington must be hanged by the 
neck until he is dead.” She felt sorry for the 
Billington boys, even if they did run away—but, 
of course, the three Governors and their Council 
could not make an unjust decision. More cheer¬ 
ing, as she fell asleep, was the thought that the 
Charlestown settlers, who had come with her 
from England, were to move to Shawmut where 
were bubbling streams—and a white steer. 


96 


FROM BOSTON 


Joiners and cleavers of timber were urged to 
hasten the work of building shelters before the cold 
weather. Some bricklayers from Salem came to 
build chimneys and fill in the cracks of the log 
houses with clay. Some of them received two 
shillings a day for their labor, or about fifty cents, 
—^which was considered a large wage. 

In early September a number of the families 
were moved from Charlestown to Shawmut. At 
a meeting of the Council on September seventh, the 
name was changed to Boston, to the delight of the 
Garrett children. This change of name was, in 
part, a recognition of the debt of the colony to 
Isaac Johnson and his wife, Lady Arbella, who had 
come from Boston, England, and had given so 
much encouragement and financial aid to the un¬ 
dertaking. 

Hannah gathered about her the younger boys 
and girls who had come to Charlestown in the 
previous years—the Graves and Conant children— 
and others who had joined the fleet of ships from 
Dorsetshire and Devonshire, and she told them 
much about old Boston. She described for them the 
Guildhall, the schoolhouse and, especially, the 
Church of Saint Botolph’s with its beacon light. 

“ Probably there will be a beacon on one of the 
three mountains in this new Boston,” she declared, 


TO BOSTON 


97 

as she looked across towards the highest of the 
peaks, and it may be called Beacon Hill.” 

“ Some day, also,” remarked Richard, who had 
joined the group and heard her last sentence, we 
must have a fort on one of the hills and a mill to 
grind the corn.” 

We shall need more corn to grind than we 
have this year,” said his father, when Richard re¬ 
peated to him his suggestions for Trimontaine. 
“ The supply is getting low both of grain and meat. 
The Governor has sent the Lyon to Ireland, with 
all speed, to bring us supplies before the winter 
overtakes us. At the last Court of Assistants the 
edict went forth that ‘ No one should give, sell, or 
truck Indian corn. Nor should any one allow an 
Indian to use his gun.’ ” 

Mr. Garrett’s name was on the list of Freemen, 
recorded on October nineteenth, and he was taking 
a prominent part in the affairs of the colony, in 
finding and storing supplies. “Next winter,” he 
told his wife, “ we shall have no lack of good food, 
for Governor Winthrop’s farm at Mistick will 
yield not alone corn and barley but plenty of root 
vegetables and good fodder for our cattle.” 

Sometimes, Hannah went to bed hungry, yet she 
was growing tall. She would lie awake, listening to 
distant sounds: the loons crying, wild geese honk- 


FROM BOSTON 


98 

ing, foxes barking, cicadas buzzing and, occasion¬ 
ally, a wolf howling. The men were building 
fences around their palings, to keep the wolves 
away from the cattle and swine. 

Governor Winthrop uses his tools with skill; 
he works as hard as the men do in setting up the 
fences,” Richard reported. The Governor’s house 
had been set up ” for a time in New-Town, soon 
to be called Cambridge. Later it was to have 
another move—this time to Boston for its final 
location. 

Isaac Johnson had planned to have more bricks 
brought from Salem, not alone for the chimneys 
but also for houses. His death in September was 
a great loss to the colony. “ I am glad that I 
came,” he had said, in spite of illness and discom¬ 
forts. John Wilson and Governor Winthrop laid 
stress on his courage, in the long funeral service. 
Hannah tried to bring cheerfulness into their 
home, during these sad days, by gathering a large 
bunch of bright golden flowers near the garden of 
William Blackstone. He found her on the hill¬ 
side, and asked her if she knew the name of the 
flowers? ‘‘They are called golden-rod,” he said, 
“ because they are so yellow and so straight.” She 
found, also, some purple asters that did cheer her 
mother, because they seemed like a message from 


TO BOSTON 


99 


their Lincolnshire home. “ I got my feet wet— 
and my skirts muddy,—gathering these four, 
fringed flowers that grow beside the brook,” she 
said. I wonder what they are called; they are 
as blue as my blue-bird locket.” The next day she 
took two of the blossoms (that closed at night and 
opened in the daylight) to Mistress Bradstreet, 
who told her they were blue gentians. 

There were births as well as deaths in Boston. 
The older children were glad to “ tend ” the babies 
while their mothers were washing their few clothes 
or gathering clams for baking. There were three 
new babies baptized to-day at meeting,” Hannah 
said on a crisp October day. “ They had beautiful 
names; two were Joy and Recompense, daughters 
of John Miles; another was Pittie, daughter of 
kind William Blackstone. I wonder if he will let 
this little girl ride on his white steer when she is 
old enough to go afield with him.” 



lOO 


FROM BOSTON 


CHAPTER VI 

INDIAN SUMMER DAYS IN 1630 

The weather that autumn was mild and sunny, 
with only occasional days of rain. Never had these 
English-born colonists seen such brilliant foliage 
as that on the sugar maples, the ash-trees, and the 
oak. The children gathered leaves from blue¬ 
berry-bushes and sumachs, from woodbine and 
elder-bushes; they oiled some of the brilliant 
leaves and pressed them between blocks of wood, 
to send home in letters to English friends. 

“ This weather is what we call ‘ Indian summer ’ 
in Plymouth,” Dr. Fuller said on one of his many 
visits to Boston. He came to the Garrett log- 
house to see his favorite among the children, Han¬ 
nah. He had brought her a pair of warm gloves 
for the cold days. ^^Although it is so mild now, 
the weather has a habit of changing suddenly and 
often a warm day will be followed by a frosty 
morning—or a storm of sleet. I keep on hand a 
good supply of these English gloves as gifts for my 
particular friends ”—and Hannah did not forget 
to make one of her best curtseys to the kind doctor. 


TO BOSTON 


lOI 


“ Why is this weather called ‘ Indian sum¬ 
mer ’ ? ” asked Mistress Garrett. 

“ I am not sure,” the doctor answered. “ Per¬ 
haps it is because the Indians take delight in the 
unusual warmth and collect their supplies for the 
winter. They often change their camps at this 
season to more sheltered places. Some one has sug¬ 
gested that it was called ‘ Indian summer ’ by the 
first settlers, because the Indians were more likely 
to make a raid upon the white people at this time 
and carry off some of the supplies, but I doubt that 
origin of the phrase. They are very active during 
these late harvest days; they have corn dances in 
honor of the harvest; they gather in groups to play 
games of chance or go off hunting for venison to 
be preserved for the winter in deep holes in the 
ground, often covered with pine boughs to conceal 
the hiding-places. The women gather nuts and 
reeds for their mats and baskets.” 

I wonder if my little squirrel in Charlestown 
is getting fat now, for he can gather all the nuts 
he needs for the winter,” Hannah said. 

“ Nuts are good food for little girls as well as 
squirrels. You, Hannah, need to grow some in 
width as well as length. Some of the milk and 
eggs that are now fed to our Plymouth lassies— 
Betty Alden and Lorea Standish—would bring 


102 


FROM BOSTON 


back the red cheeks that you had when you left 
the old Boston for the new. Perhaps, in the spring¬ 
time, your father will bring you some day when 
he is coming to Plymouth to barter his well-made 
shoes for supplies, and you can stay for a visit with 
my goodwife.” 

Hannah was aglow with excitement. Do you 
really mean it. Dr. Fuller? Could I go to Plym¬ 
outh and see Priscilla Alden and Mary Chilton— 
and Mistress Fuller? I will eat corn-meal mush 
every day until then—but I don’t like it.” 

“ Stranger things have happened, little girl,” 
he answered with a friendly hand-shake, as he went 
to call upon some sick patients and to have dinner 
with William Blackstone, in his picturesque house 
at the foot of the highest hill of Trimontaine. 

The Indians were friendly to the settlers in the 
new Boston, as they had been in Salem and 
Charlestown. They brought small measures of 
meal for barter, or fish caught off the shore; more 
often skins and furs. They soon had secured, in 
this way of exchange, nearly all the available 
knives and trinkets of the settlers. They would 
stand about and watch with deep interest the build¬ 
ing of stone chimneys and the making of crude 
articles of furniture for the log-houses, like long 


TO BOSTON 


103 

tables, stools, settles, and cot-frames for the feather¬ 
beds that had been brought from England. When 
the Indians came with gifts of wild fowls, the 
housewives carefully picked, dried, and sorted out 
the feathers for more warm bedding, as protection 
against the winter which was delayed in coming— 
but sure to settle down upon them unawares. 

Most frequent visitors among the red men were 
the sons and daughter of the squaw sachem, widow 
of Nanepashemit, who had been sachem of the 
Patuckets. She had three sons and a daughter. 
Sagamore John and Sagamore James were often 
in the settlements at Charlestown, Dorchester, 
and Boston. 

“ The Indian name of Sagamore John is Mono- 
haquahan. Can you pronounce that word? ” 
Richard asked his sisters, and he laughed as they 
tried to speak the many syllables that he could say 
so glibly. 

As Dr. Fuller had said, the Indians were more 
than commonly active and numerous about Boston 
settlement during these autumn days. They liked 
to encamp for the day and play their games in the 
open space below the hills, near the bubbling 
spring which William Blackstone had commended 
to the distressed colonists in Charlestown. On a 


104 


FROM BOSTON 


warm October day, when Hannah and Faith were 
walking across this space, to get water from the 
spring in their leathern bottles, they found a group 
of Indians on the ground, apparently in gala 
spirits. Their kitten, now a large and not too 
friendly cat, followed Hannah and her sister. 

Faith was a little afraid of so many painted 
Indians, with their loud laughs and “ ughs,” and 
she would have turned to hurry home but Hannah 
saw the familiar face of Sagamore John, so she 
knew that these Indians were friendly. ‘‘ We can 
watch their games for a little while. See! Here 
comes Stephen Winthrop and Patience Dudley, so 
we are in safe company.” If the children were 
assured of safety, the cat was not so confident; she 
snarled a little and raised her back and tail in 
remonstrance. Hannah was obliged to take her in 
her arms, as the children sat down on the hillside 
to watch the games. Now be quiet, kitty, and 
when we get home I will give you some milk and 
a piece of fish that Richard caught for our dinner.” 

The Indian men were much excited over their 
game of Puim, as they called this slow, popular 
sport. They sat in a circle on the ground, the older 
men smoking. In the centre was a wheel or big 
ring of rawhide, wrapped or cross-barred with 
rawhide strings to make it stiff. It was ornamented 


TO BOSTON 


105 

with many beads in designs of animals and gro¬ 
tesque birds. Ten men were chosen to play the 
game at a time. Each was given a straight, slender 
stick about five feet long. The first man took his 
turn at rolling the wheel in the circle and the 
others, in turn, threw their sticks at it, as it rolled 
along the ground. If any one could send his stick 
through the wheel, he would win the game. Those 
who touched the wheel at certain points gained, 
or scored, over the others. The Indians were 
gambling, as usual, on their chances of transfixing 
the wheel. They put up stakes of wampum and 
feathers and even wagered their beaded leather 
leggings. They were very noisy and excited; often 
at some loud outburst, the cat in Hannah’s arms 
would spit and try to get away. 

The squaws, meanwhile, sat on the ground not 
far away but nearer the foot of Trimontaine, which 
rose above them about one hundred feet. They 
were interested in their own games. Three of 
them had babies on their backs. At first sight of 
these babies, thus carried on the mothers’ backs, 
Hannah had been both amazed and worried lest 
the baby should fall out—but she had learned that 
the papoose, or the Indian baby, was both safe and 
comfortable in this snug cradle. She admired the 
colored embroideries and beads on the tunic and 


io6 FROM BOSTON 

head-band of one of the women. They seemed to 
be playing a game of chance, also, with blackened 
plum-stones on which were certain cryptic marks. 
For wagers, they held up pieces of red cloth or 
strings of bright beads. They seemed almost as 
excited as the men were, but they laughed and 
talked in more musical tones. 

“ Do you see that squaw with the richly em¬ 
broidered girdle and high moccasins?” asked 
Patience Dudley. “See! the little Indian boy is 
running to her now. He is the son of Sagamore 
John, and she is Yawata, the sister of Sagamore 
John and Sagamore James.” 

“Yawata! What a musical name!” Hannah 
exclaimed, repeating the word several times. 
“ And what a beautiful shawl she has! It is some¬ 
what like that given to Lady Arbella by Captain 
Burleigh, when he came from Spain. She gave 
it to Mother to keep for me until I should be a 
young lady. It is locked up now in the chest with 
my blue-bird locket.” 

“ Don’t talk so loud, Hannah,” pleaded Faith. 
“ The Indians may come—if they hear you—and 
try to steal the shawl and locket, or barter some¬ 
thing for it.” 

That evening Hannah told her father and 
mother and Richard about the games and the In- 


TO BOSTON 


107 

dians who were friendly. “Not a single scalp 
lost, Richard, although we were so few and they 
were so manyf^ she said with a laugh. 

“All right! You may laugh, Hannah, but not 
every Indian is as loyal to the white settlers as are 
Sagamore John and Sagamore James. They like 
us and would even adopt some of our ways and 
habits. Sagamore James has begged Governor 
Winthrop for ‘ a suit of English clothes,’ and the 
Governor has commissioned the captain of the 
Lyon to get one for him from a London tailor. But 
there are wily and bitter enemies among the In¬ 
dians, as you would soon find out if you should ever 
chance to come among the Nauset tribe.” 

“Why are they so bitter against the white set¬ 
tlers, Richard?” asked his mother. “Have they 
ever been ill-treated by the white men, as we are 
told the Indian squaws were by the revellers at 
Merrymount? ” 

“ It is an interesting, sad story,” her husband 
said. “ Henry Harwood told me about it. In 
1614-” 

“ That is sixteen years ago,” interrupted Rich¬ 
ard, but his mother shook her head for silence. 

“ Yes, sixteen years ago. Captain John Smith was 
anchored off Eastham, which is about fifty miles 
overland from Plymouth. The Nausets dwell near 



io8 


FROM BOSTON 


there. With him was Thomas Hunt, an ungodly 
trader. One day, just before Captain John Smith 
was to sail for England, Hunt enticed seven of the 
Nausets and about twenty of the Patuxets, to go 
on shipboard, on pretense of trading with them. 
Then he imprisoned them and carried them off to 
Malaga where he sold them as slaves for twenty 
pounds each.’’ 

“ It was an atrocious, cruel deed, and it is not 
strange that those Indians should hate the white 
people,” said Mistress Garrett. “We are told in 
the Bible to forgive and love our enemies, but not 
many women would forgive such acts to their sons 
and husbands. Indians have hearts, and suffer as 
we do.” 

“ Harwood said that, years later, when some 
white men went from Plymouth to find a boy who 
had wandered away and been kindly treated by 
the Nausets, an old squaw, more than one hundred 
years of age probably, came to Miles Standish and 
his men and cried bitterly. Through Hobomok, 
the Indian guide and interpreter of Captain Stand¬ 
ish, she said that three of her sons had been taken 
away captive by Hunt. She was left alone with 
no one to care for her or to get her venison and 
fowl in her old age. The Plymouth captain told 
her that Hunt was ^ a bad Englishman ’ but they 


TO BOSTON 


109 

were friendly; then they gave her some trinkets 
and beads.’’ 

^‘Trinkets and beads—in barter, I suppose, for 
three sons sold into slavery,” said Mistress Garrett, 
with a tone of anger seldom heard in her gentle 
voice. 

“ There were some kind monks at Malaga who 
took pity on the Indians and freed many of them,” 
her husband continued his tale. “ Some of them 
went to England and were later sent back to their 
tribes.” 

Henry Harwood had joined the group and 
added more information about the Nausets. Dur¬ 
ing the famine in Plymouth, in 1622, these Indians 
sent corn and beans to the white settlers by Tis- 
quantum, the friend of the Plymouth colony. I 
fear me it was a poor return for such kindness, the 
next spring, when Miles Standish and his company 
drove several of their men into swamps and killed 
others. Aspinet, sachem of the Nausets, perished 
in the swamps.” 

Richard came to the defense of his hero, with 
the quick retort: Captain Miles Standish would 
never have done such a deed unless he had good 
cause.” 

You are right, Richard. He was the victim 
of a false tale—that the Nausets had joined with 


no 


FROM BOSTON 


the Narragansetts, always an enemy tribe, to kill 
the English at Plymouth. When the Captain 
found certain Indian chiefs gathered at Wessa- 
gusset for a powwow, he killed some and scattered 
others. When he went back to Plymouth, he took 
the head of one of the slain Indian chiefs, on a 
pole, as a warning to other would-be enemies.” 

“Aye, and it was after that, as John Cotton once 
told us, that John Robinson, the good pastor of the 
Pilgrims at Leyden, urged Governor Bradford to 
‘ restrain the fiery temper of his Captain.’ ” 

“ Captain Miles Standish is a great man, even if 
he has red hair and a fiery temper,” persisted 
Richard. 

“ True, my son,” replied his father. “ Plymouth 
colony owes its life to the valor of Captain Stand¬ 
ish and the wisdom of William Bradford and Elder 
Brewster. Some day I shall go there to consult 
with those men and, perhaps, bring back supplies 
of corn to relieve our threat of famine.” 

“ You’ll not go until springtime,” urged Mistress 
Garrett, with an anxious face. “ Surely, you will 
not venture out into these unknown waters, when 
cold and ice storms may break upon us at any 
time.” 

“ The need of more corn is now, goodwife, not 
in the summer.” He gazed thoughtfully into the 


TO BOSTON 


III 


fire, as his neighbors said, Good-night.” He went 
with them to the door and, looking out into the 
star-lit night, he added, ’Tis mild weather yet, 
and the cold and snow may not overtake us for 
another moon.” 

Hannah had been listening intently—sometimes 
with inward shivers—to this talk about the Indians. 
At the last words of her father, she stole softly to 
his side and whispered, May I go with you. 
Father, when you go to Plymouth? Dr. Fuller 
said I might come with you and stay with Mistress 
Fuller. May I go?” 

We’ll see, lassie. We’ll see! Now get you to 
bed, and don’t dream of savages that may attack 
us, but of those who will give us corn and kind¬ 
ness.” 

“ That romping girl, Anna Pollard, is in Bos¬ 
ton,” announced Richard the next day, when he 
came home at sunset. “ She came with Master 
Allerton from Plymouth yesterday when he came 
into this harbor, on his way to England, with 
papers for Governor Winthrop. She has been 
staying with his daughter. Remember Allerton— 
for Anna Pollard’s mother and Remember’s mother 
were friends in old England. She is a pretty girl, 
but over-lively.” 


II 2 


FROM BOSTON 


“ She may be over-lively, as you say, Richard,” 
said Hannah in defense of her friend, but she is 
good company and I am glad she has come to Bos¬ 
ton. I have so much to tell her! She will be sur¬ 
prised to hear that I may be going to Plymouth 
soon—or in the spring,” she added, as she noticed 
her mother’s frown. 

Hannah hurried through her morning tasks— 
washing the trenchers, cleaning the skillets, sweep¬ 
ing the floor with the reed broom which Richard 
had made, and then sprinkling it with fresh white 
sand. She hoped—and believed—that Anna Pol¬ 
lard would come to see her that morning early, 
and she wanted to have time to talk with her. 
Perhaps they could take a walk and run on this 
crisp November day. “ Yes, kitty, you may have 
a piece of fish and some water. There isn’t enough 
milk for you to-day—I didn’t have any on my 
porridge.” 

True to her expectation, Hannah soon heard the 
jolly tones of her friend’s voice, as Anna Pollard 
and Patience Dudley came down the lane. Anna 
was going back to the Dudley home in New- 
Town that evening, but she could spend the day 
with Hannah. She was as lively as ever—perhaps 
even more so because of the good food and exercise 
that she had been having in Plymouth. She 


TO BOSTON 


113 


brought some fragrant bayberries to Mistress Gar¬ 
rett, a doll, dressed in a long cape and little hood 
for Faith, who was too happy to speak, and a pair 
of lace mitts for Hannah, to wear to meeting with 
her lace collar. The girls talked fast as Hannah 
finished her household work. Could they go 
for a walk by the river? ” Yes, her mother would 
give them some bannock and a piece of cold fish, 
salted and mixed with some dressing, for a salad. 
Anna had a few “ sweetmeats ” left from the sup¬ 
ply given her by Remember Allerton. She left 
one for Richard and another for Faith, as the girls 
started gaily with their lunch, in the pumpkin-skin 
basket which was another trophy of Anna’s visit in 
Plymouth. 

“ Be sure to come home before it is dark,” urged 
Mistress Garrett. “ You know the days are shorter 
now, and the lanes are dangerous after sunset. 
Don’t wander far away from the settlement.” 

The girls promised caution and a safe return 
before “ it was anywhere near dark.” Chattering, 
up the hill they went. Faith forgot to wish she 
might go, so absorbed was she in her marvelous 
new doll. Mistress Garrett watched the girls, from 
her doorway, until they reached the peak of one 
of the hills and broke into a run over the top. I 
hope they will not spill their lunch or tear their 


FROM BOSTON 


114 

skirts,’’ she said. “A good romp, however, will not 
do any harm to Hannah, and may give her more 
appetite and color.” 

The girls ran fast along the sandy shore; they 
threw branches and stones into the water to see 
who could throw the farther; they marked off 
spaces on the beach and played that old game 
of “ Hop Scotch.” Soon they were hungry and 
found a rock, in the sun, where they ate with relish 
all the food they had brought—and even Hannah 
wished for much more. Let us follow this path 
a little way into the woods,” said Anna Pollard. 
“ We shall find more acorns there and can fill our 
empty basket with these. The larger ones make 
good candle-holders and the little ones can be 
fastened on a string for a necklace, with bright 
beads between. Remember Allerton had such a 
pretty one.” 

Mother warned me not to go far into the 
woods,” said Hannah, but we can go a little way; 
here are two oak-trees and we can find plenty of 
acorns. These pine cones are fine to burn in the 
fireplace; they get our hands all sticky, but we can 
wash them in that clear little stream of water that 
I can see beyond this clump of trees.” 

Why don’t we take off our shoes and socks and 
wade into that clean water; it can’t be very cold, 


TO BOSTON 


115 

and my feet are tired and warm,” suggested Anna 
Pollard. 

Hannah hesitated for a moment but she could 
see no harm in doing this as another “ adventure.” 
What magic that word had for her! All her life 
she was wishing for adventures ”—but she was 
not encouraged by Mother or Richard, for in their 
eyes “ adventures ” usually meant romping,” or 
running away or some such misdemeanor; yet 
she remembered that when the voyagers on the 
Arbella and its consorts set sail from Southampton, 
John Wilson called them ^^Adventurers in a New 
Land.” ^^Adventures must be all right for grown¬ 
up people, but dangerous for children,” she de¬ 
cided. She was glad that she had worn her “ safe¬ 
guard ” to protect her dress from mud. 

While she was making these mental calcula¬ 
tions, she was taking ofif her shoes and socks, as 
Anna had already done. They left them with their 
basket under a jutting rock; then they rolled their 
long skirts up farther than “ Mother ” might have 
approved—but no one was about to see them—and 
waded into the cool, sparkling water. How good 
it felt as they stepped carefully, lest they might cut 
their bare feet, on the bottom of the shallow 
stream! 

“ What was that noise? There it was again! It 


ii6 


FROM BOSTON 


sounded like a dog’s barking—it couldn’t be a wolf, 
could it? ” Hannah asked in sudden alarm. 

No! It is a dog—a little dog, chasing a squir¬ 
rel and getting all excited. Where do you suppose 
he comes from? I didn’t know there were any 
dogs in the settlement except the big one owned 
by William Blackstone.” 

“ Perhaps he comes from some Indian encamp¬ 
ment,” Anna Pollard supplied this information, 

for the Indians gave two dogs to the Plymouth 
settlers the first year they were there and now there 
are several dogs, big and little. Isn’t this little dog 
playful? Oh, he is coming down to the river, 
for he hears our voices and, perhaps, he smells the 
food—that was —in our basket. Yes, he has found 
the basket and—look!—he has tipped it over with 
his nose and spilled out all the acorns. We had 
better get out of the water and back to the rock 
or he will find our shoes and make off with them.” 

Even as she spoke, to the amusement and sudden 
alarm of Hannah, she saw that he had taken one 
of her shoes in his mouth and was shaking it up 
and down, as only young, playful dogs can treat a 
shoe. Here! Stop doing that, doggie!” she 
shouted. You will tear the lacings and spoil the 
polished leather of that shoe. Then what would 
Mother say to me? Father is too busy to make me 


TO BOSTON 


117 

more shoes and I could not wear my best ones 
every day. Oh, stop him, Anna! Run and stop 
him! ” she screamed, as the little dog, fearing that 
his new plaything might be taken away from him 
by the girls, strengthened his teeth upon the shoe 
and ran off with it into the woods. 

The girls ran after him but he was too swift for 
them to overtake. They had not stopped to put on 
socks, and their feet soon became cut and scratched 
by briars and pine needles. What promised to be 
just a happy adventure ” was threatening to be¬ 
come a tragedy for Hannah, with the loss of her 
shoe and a bad cut on her foot that was beginning 
to bleed. Moreover, clouds had followed the 
bright sunshine of the early day and it was getting 
dark. The dog had scampered out of sight—and 
all seemed lost. 

Never mind! ’’ comforted Anna Pollard. “ We 
will go back where our socks are and my two shoes 
—and your one shoe. We can manage some way 
to limp home. Listen! That dog is coming back! 
Hear him bark—only it sounds more cross and not 
so playful! Some one is talking. Hurry, Hannah, 
we must get back to the rock and put on our socks 
and try to run home right away. Oh, how my foot 
hurts! I’m sure there is a briar in it, but I can’t 
stop now to pick it out.” 



FROM BOSTON 


ii8 

Before the girls could reach the rock—so far 
had they run after the little dog—the voices came 
nearer and soon a Whoop!’’ kindly but urgent, 
made them turn around. They saw an Indian boy 
of perhaps ten or twelve years, running towards 
them with Hannah’s shoe in his hand, while the 
little dog was jumping up and yapping, somewhat 
testily, at the shoe which was held out of his reach. 
Behind them was a squaw, walking rapidly and 
laughing. A glance showed Hannah that she was 
Yawata, the sister of Sagamore John. In her hand 
she had a pair of moccasins, beaded in gay colors, 
which she held towards Hannah, saying several 
words in the Indian language. Hannah shook her 
head in mystery and misunderstanding. Evidently 
Yawata wished to barter something that she had 
for the moccasins—but what could it be? 

She wants you to take the moccasins in place 
of your shoe,” said Anna Pollard. ^‘The little 
dog has torn the top of the shoe; it is her dog, or 
the little boy’s, and she offers this gift. Yes, that 
is right—for she is bowing her head—you see, she 
can understand more English than she can speak.” 

Yawata made the girls sit down on the rock 
while she took out the briars from their feet. Then 
she led Hannah by the hand down to the river and 
motioned them to wash off the blood and get their 


TO BOSTON 


119 

feet clean again before they put on the socks. She 
examined Hannah’s cut, and washed it out care¬ 
fully with water. She helped her to put on her 
socks and the moccasins. Then she sent the Indian 
boy away—motioning to him in the direction 
whence they came—and sending the little dog with 
him. There was an argument, in Indian words 
and pantomime, regarding whether the shoe should 
go with the boy and dog, or remain with Hannah 
as a relic of her adventure.” The decision seemed 
to be for Hannah, in spite of urgent demands of 
the dog for his rare plaything. He was appeased 
by his master’s choice of a branch from a supple 
tree, which he used as a bait to make the dog run. 

Darkness was almost upon them before they had 
gone far on the homeward trail. Hannah began 
to worry about her mother’s anxiety, but she could 
not walk any faster. Yawata showed them a short 
way and, when the stubble was very rough, she 
would lift Hannah up and carry her a few paces. 
As they came near the settlement, they heard a 
sound like a drum. Why was Richard sounding 
the drum at this time—for it was not meeting night 
nor the Sabbath? Anna Pollard explained that, 
once while she was at Plymouth, two girls who had 
been gathering bayberries had wandered away and 
there had been a drum sounded then and a group 


120 


FROM BOSTON 


of men gathered at the cry of “A child lost!’^ 
Probably Mistress Garrett was urging Richard 
to sound an alarm and lead a searching party for 
them. 

Yes—as they came nearer, although it was too 
dark to distinguish faces, Hannah heard her 
mother’s voice. In spite of her sore feet she ran 
down the hill and, with a sound that was both a 
shout and a sob, threw her arms about her mother’s 
neck. Then she turned around to thank Yawata 
and tell her mother how kind the squaw had been 
to them—but the Indian had vanished in the dark¬ 
ness. 

Would Richard tease her and call her a gadfly? 
She hoped he would not, for she was so tired that 
she feared she would cry any moment. She heard 
him say something in a low tone to Samuel Dudley 
(who had gathered with a small group at the sound 
of the drum) about that romping girl, Anna Pol¬ 
lard.” Mother was kind not to ask any questions 
that night, for she was so tired; salve and linen 
bandage soothed her feet, and some clam broth 
tasted good. To-morrow, she would explain all 
about the shoe. Would this adventure make 
Father hesitate to take her to Plymouth with him? 
She tried to say her prayers carefully that night, 
but fell asleep when she was half-way through. 


TO BOSTON 


I 2 I 


CHAPTER VII 

THE SHALLOP DRIFTS TO NAUSET HARBOR 

Surely, you would not take Hannah with you, 
on this madcap sailing to Plymouth in December? 
’Tis no jaunt for a maiden—in a shallop with six 
men. Mayhap, you will be shipwrecked before 
you make land. Let the girl and Richard abide 
at home with me and Faith.’’ So said Goodwife 
Garrett to her husband, as he unfolded to her his 
plan to sail for Plymouth for supplies near the 
end of December. 

There had been no snow nor long-continued cold 
weather. The sun shone warm in midday, al¬ 
though the nights were frosty. No forecasts had 
been made of any sudden changes in weather which 
might overtake a daring adventurer in this New 
England climate. 

Richard Garrett was fearless and determined. 
His wife’s doubts and remonstrances only whetted 
his self-confidence. As they were talking, Han¬ 
nah was sorting out some wool for her mother to 
spin, when she could borrow the wheel from Mis¬ 
tress Dudley. She could not keep silence any 
longer, so she came to her mother and, leaning on 


122 


FROM BOSTON 


her shoulder with affectionate looks, said, Please, 
Mother, let me go with Father! You will have 
Richard and Faith at home. I will never be a 
bit of trouble to the men, and I can cook fish for 
them, if need be. Dr. Fuller said it would be 
good for me to come to his home for a little change. 
Please, Mother, may I go? ’’ 

“ Go back to your work, child, and leave this 
decision to your elders,” said her mother with more 
firmness than usual, for she was much troubled. 
^‘’Tis bleak and rocky on that Plymouth coast. 
There may be sudden storms. There’s hazard 
enough for men—and far too much in this season- 
in a small shallop in winter.” 

‘‘ We’ll see! We’ll see! ” rejoined Richard Gar¬ 
rett as he rose from his stool and went towards the 
door, giving Hannah a reassuring smile. 

Afterwards he talked again with his wife: “ It 
will only be three or four days and the colony is 
in sore need of corn just now, goodwife,” he 
pleaded. ‘‘A day or two at Plymouth and a day 
thither and one to return! I feel sure I can bring 
back salted meats as well as corn. The supply at 
Boston is almost exhausted. It is mild weather 
and the moon is at its full. No storm will likely 
come upon us this week. William Coddington has 
consented to my taking the shallop in which he 


TO BOSTON 123 

brought supplies from Salem. It is a strong, sea¬ 
worthy boat.” 

‘^Aye, but William Coddington and Simon Brad- 
street and Thomas Dudley all advised you against 
this foolish venture at this season. Mistress Dor¬ 
othy Dudley told me so this very day,” rejoined 
Mistress Garrett. 

“ They be over-cautious, goodwife, so fear not. 
All will be well with us. Do you keep up the 
courage and health of young Mistress Harwood, 
for her husband is willing to go and he shares my 
faith in the venture. Richard will keep you sup¬ 
plied with wood for the cabin fireplace, and such 
food as he can find.” 

“Why can’t I go with you. Father? I can lay 
in supplies of wood and fish for Mother and the 
girls,” asked Richard as he lay awake on a mat by 
the fireplace. “ It would be better to take me than 
Hannah, a girl/^ 

“ Nay, son, you abide with your mother and let 
the lassie have this short voyage in the shallop, and 
a bit of visit with the young folks at Plymouth. 
She is stout-hearted, but she needs richer food than 
we can get in Boston.” 

Mistress Garrett was neither a nagging nor a 
scolding wife. She had used her reason and affec¬ 
tion to influence her husband against this “ mad- 


124 


FROM BOSTON 


cap venture ’’ but she knew his motives were noble 
and his will was strong. In her day, the husband’s 
will was the law of the family, so she said no 
further words, but her heart was heavy. 

Five days later, Richard Garrett, with four 
other men and Hannah, sailed out from the harbor 
in the sturdy shallop, bound for Plymouth. They 
expected to reach their destination before night¬ 
fall, for they left early in the morning as the sun 
was rising. The weather was mild; the water was 
calm. Hannah’s brown eyes were as bright as her 
spirits. She kissed her mother and Faith, waved 
a gay good-bye to Richard, who came with them 
to the dock, and jumped aboard the boat. In a 
bundle, tightly corded with hemp and clasped 
under her arm, were gifts for Plymouth friends— 
knitted hose for Dr. Fuller and an embroidered 
lace cravat for Mary Chilton. 

Down the bay the shallop sailed. Hannah’s 
delight at being again at sea kept her tongue lively. 
She talked to Henry Harwood and two of the 
younger men, who had arrived on later ships than 
the Arbella. She recalled the favorite phrase of 
Captain Milbourne: There was ‘‘a merry gale.” 
She told, in gleeful humor, the story of the “ mock 
battle ” and “ fear turned to joy,” when the 
Dunkirkers,” who seemed to be chasing the 


TO BOSTON 


125 

Arbella as pirates, proved to be friends bound for 
Newfoundland. 

“ Captain Peter Milbourne shot a ball of wild 
fire, which burned on the water for several sec¬ 
onds. He intended it to show the ^ enemies ’ that 
our ship was well-armed in defense; the friends 
thought it was a salute and returned it. We forgot 
all the days of storm and fog when we saw land 
off Mount Desert.’’ 

She talked, as usual, much about old Boston and 
its “ beacon.” She told them about the manor- 
house of Lady Arbella with its stores of food and 
linen. Margaret Winthrop, the wife of the Gov¬ 
ernor, would come in a few months, her mother 
had said, with the older son, John, and the daugh¬ 
ters, Mary and little Ann. Then every one will 
be happy, and we shall have a Thanksgiving Day, 
with more than fish and nuts to eat.” 

As they sailed past Wessagusset and Wollaston, 
Richard Garrett gave up his place as pilot to an¬ 
other man and joined Hannah and Henry Har¬ 
wood in the stern of the boat, where the breeze 
was less frosty than at the prow. He pointed out 
to them Merrymount where Thomas Morton and 
his comrades had such ungodly riots.” Even 
sitting in the stocks ” did not prevent this man 
from abusing his rights. It were well to send him 


126 


FROM BOSTON 


back to England, where he might still make mis¬ 
chief for the colonists but there were no Indians 
there to corrupt. 

“ Patience Dudley said they called him ^ Lord 
of Misrule,’ ” said Hannah. 

They were noisy men and they defied the Pil¬ 
grims at Plymouth and the Puritans at Salem,” 
her father said. At last, came Miles Standish 
with orders from Governor Bradford and Gov¬ 
ernor Endicott and cut down their Maypole, 
around which they had their revels, and burned 
some of their huts in sight of the Indians whom 
they had cheated and abused. Far more pleasant 
are our thoughts of Nantasket, which we are now 
passing, and the hospitality that has been given 
there to so many seamen.” 

The sun shone clear and fairly warm during the 
forenoon, as the shallop passed Scituate and the 
low lands, later to be called Marshfield. They ate 
with lusty appetites and anticipated making harbor 
in Plymouth in a few hours. Suddenly, low-hung 
clouds began to hide the sun and the air became 
bitterly cold. Before they had rounded Duxbury 
a sleet-storm was upon them and the sails became 
stiff with ice. Equally stiff were the fingers and 
feet of the men. Richard Garrett brought out a 
heavy mat and wrapped this about Hannah. He 


TO BOSTON 


127 

looked with some dismay at the darkening clouds 
and blinding sleet. “Are you warm enough, las¬ 
sie? ’’ he asked. 

“ Oh, yes, Father, I am not a bit cold. It is 
lucky that I wore those warm gloves that Dr. 
Fuller gave me. I wish you had some, for your 
hands look blue with cold.” 

“ They will be all right,” he replied, trying to 
be cheerful, as he blew upon his cold fingers and 
stamped his feet to get them warm. “ This is only 
what the seamen call ^ a snow-squall.’ It will pass 
soon, and the sun will be shining again.” 

The sun did not come out, however, but the ice- 
storm increased, blinding their eyes when they 
tried to see their course and sending Hannah into 
the cabin for shelter. 

“ Plymouth harbor is treacherous to enter with¬ 
out good light,” Henry Harwood warned Richard 
Garrett. “ It would be better for us to anchor off 
Gurnet’s Head—^which should be hard by us now 
—and wait until morning to make the harbor.” 

“Your counsel may be good, friend Harwood,” 
said Garrett, with his confidence and bravado 
dampened by the cold and storm, “ We will drop 
our killock and let the shallop stay anchored here 
for the night. We have food enough for another 
good meal or two—not much variety but good 


128 


FROM BOSTON 


quantity—and we men can stand being a bit chilly 
if the lassie is warm.’’ 

In the middle of the night Hannah wakened, 
shivering with cold and realizing that the water 
was driving into the cabin, and a wild storm was 
howling outside. The shallop seemed to be mov¬ 
ing, buffeted by the waves, yet Father had said 
they had let down the killock and were at anchor. 
She could not see any light on the water or land, 
but she must not cry, for Father would think she 
was afraid. Surely, it would be sunshine to-mor¬ 
row and they would be safely in Plymouth. So 
she gathered her feet under her and pulled the mat 
closer about her. Then she found that her father 
had put his own long cloak over her when she was 
asleep. He must need that for warmth,” she 
thought, but she heard no sound, so probably he 
was asleep. 

The night was long and terrifying to Richard 
Garrett and the men. They realized that their 
killock—the anchor which was a stone tied into a 
frame and network of rope—had slipped, that the 
stone was lost and they were drifting. Daylight 
brought no help in locating Plymouth or 
any other harbor. The men were so cold that 
numbness overcame them. They drifted past rocky 
shores, that threatened to dash their shallop to 


TO BOSTON 


129 


pieces should they come closer to land. Richard 
Garrett gathered the men and tried to pray for 
some relief from their threatened shipwreck. The 
men echoed his “ Amen ” as well as throats and 
voices, almost paralyzed with cold, could speak. 

“ Land and a harbor! And some sort of shelter 
surely beyond that wooded shore,” shouted Henry 
Harwood. “ Run up the sail and make for that 
rocky beach.” 

With fingers and legs stiffened, the sight of that 
beach brought them a revival of hope and Garrett 
piloted his shallop, as well as he could, into Nauset 
Harbor. He did not know where he had landed, 
nor whether he could reach land, but he begged 
one of the younger men to carry Hannah to the 
shore and take out the food and tinder-box. The 
wind was icy cold and stung her face as she came 
into the gale. Her fingers were cold, in spite 
of Dr. Fuller’s warm gloves, but she knew the men 
must be suffering far more than she was. Why 
were they so quiet and stiff? Couldn’t they walk 
on shore? Two men were carrying her father who 
tried to smile at her, as they placed him down on 
the rock. His voice was husky but he gave quiet 
orders: 

“ Gather some sticks and strike a fire! ” he urged. 
“ Bring the hatchet and cut down some of those 


130 


FROM BOSTON 


larger boughs. Make a shelter by bending the 
poles and hanging one of the mats over it! ’’ 

In vain the younger men searched for a hatchet. 
None was in the shallop. Exhausted and numb 
from cold, they joined the others on the beach 
before the flickering fire. They were too cold to 
eat; there was no warm drink. The ground was 
ice-covered but “ they would rather die there than 
in the shallop, tossing about in the fierce sea.” So 
said one of the older men. 

^^We will find aid for you,” encouraged the 
youngest of the men. Stay you here, Harwood, 
with Garrett and the maiden, and we will walk 
towards Plymouth, if we can use our legs. Ex¬ 
ercise will limber them for us, and soon we may 
be able to run. Plymouth cannot be more than 
seven or eight miles away and we will return soon 
with help and food. If we find Dr. Puller, he 
will ride through the woods on horseback and 
bring Hannah back with him.” 

That would be fine—only you see, I couldn’t 
leave Father,” she said, with some alarm in her 
voice, as she stroked his cold face and stiff hands. 

More probably they will send a shallop along 
the coast, for they know well every mile of shore,” 
said Harwood. “ It looks to me as if the Indians 
had been encamped here and made this clearing 


TO BOSTON 


recently. If they are friendly to the white men, I 
wish they might loan us a hatchet—or make a 
wigwam for us.’’ 

The two younger men had not gone far on their 
overland journey to Plymouth (which was really 
fifty miles away) when they saw two squaws com¬ 
ing towards them with baskets. At sight of the 
men, they hid in the woods but they watched the 
lameness of the men and their ice-coated clothes 
with a realization that some shipwreck must have 
occurred near by. They hurried to their camp— 
for it was only half a mile distant—and soon three 
Indian men were on the way to the shore with 
blankets, hatchets, and food. Hannah sat beside 
her father, who seemed asleep and motionless. She 
rubbed his cold hands and talked to him, but he 
did not waken, so she thought that what he needed 
was just sleep. She was shivering, with a strange 
stinging pain in one foot and an ear, in spite of 
the warm hood which Mother insisted upon her 
wearing. Henry Harwood and the other man 
were awake and talking in low tones, shaking their 
heads at her father as he lay on the ground. She 
hoped they were not blaming him for the trouble 
that had come upon them—and she was glad her 
mother did not know. By the time they reached 
home again. Father would be rested, and she would 


132 


FROM BOSTON 


never tell how cold she had been, or that they 
had drifted off their course. 

“ Here they come! Now we shall have blankets 
and a warm fire. The men must have seen an 
Indian encampment and sent them back to us,” said 
Henry Harwood, as he crawled along the ground— 
he could not walk because of his swollen legs—to 
meet the swift Indian runners who were approach¬ 
ing. One of them talked some English—asked 
“ Shipwreck? Food? ”—and the other spread the 
skins over Father and Hannah; then they cut big 
boughs from the cedar-trees near by, stuck them in 
the ground and bent them to meet at the top, 
spreading a third heavy mat or rug, which they 
had brought, over this improvised wigwam. They 
lifted Richard Garrett on a mat inside the shelter, 
shaking their heads and saying, “Ugh!” several 
times, as they looked at Father and at Hannah. A 
fire was soon blazing, and the girl warmed her 
feet—how they did sting!—and her ear was all 
swollen! 

Two squaws were seen coming down the road, 
one of them with a papoose on her back. They 
talked with the Indian men, looking kindly yet 
sadly at Hannah, and then one of the women held 
out her hand to the girl and helped her to rise. 
The interpreter was talking with Henry Harwood, 


TO BOSTON 


133 

who crawled to Hannah and explained that she had 
better go with the squaws to their camp near by, 
and stay there until the Plymouth people should 
send for them. Two swift Indian runners had 
already been sent but the distance was nearly fifty 
miles and it might be a day or more before any 
help could reach them from Plymouth. 

“ But where will Father stay? Why can’t he be 
carried into the Indian camp and given some warm 
broth or something to feed him? I’m all right. 
I will stay with Father until they move him,” she 
told Harwood. He seemed distressed, looking 
first at her father and then at her, and talking with 
the Indian interpreter, in low tones. Then he ex¬ 
plained that, if Hannah would go with the squaws, 
the Indian men would make a litter of boughs, 
before the day was over, and bring her father and 
himself to their camp. We can’t walk, so it will 
take longer,” he said. “You go with these kind 
Indian women—one of them is the squaw sachem 
—and they will give you food and care and you 
can sleep there. Don’t fear for us, for the worst 
is all over for us all, even for poor Richard Gar¬ 
rett,” he said as he turned away his head. Well, 
he was not angry at her father, or he would not 
have spoken so kindly, thought Hannah, as she 
took the hand of the Indian squaw and tried to 


134 


FROM BOSTON 


walk beside her. Gradually some feeling came 
into her benumbed feet and she found a passing 
pleasure in watching the jolly Indian baby, as she 
cooed and smiled. 

Through woods they went, on a rough trail, then 
they came to a clearing and encampment. It was 
hidden from sight of any passing ship or from the 
shore. Hannah looked behind, hoping that the 
men might be bringing her father and Harwood— 
then she knew it would take some time to make that 
litter and move the men. They were warm now, 
with the big fire and the skins that the Indians had 
thrown over them. She felt weak—and oh, so 
hungry! 

When they had seated her before a warm camp¬ 
fire, the Indian women brought her food. To be 
sure, it had a strange taste—corn mixed with some 
dried pease and softened with water—but she had 
eaten it and said, Thank you.” An Indian girl, 
with beautiful black hair, a dress of skins with a 
girdle embroidered with many beads and quills, 
and some long earrings, sat beside her while she ate 
and smiled in sympathy, as Hannah touched her 
swollen ear. Soon she felt a soft hand and knew 
that the older squaw was rubbing gently, with some 
grease, both the ears and the hand that was begin¬ 
ning to swell. 


TO BOSTON 


135 

Yes, please, I would like to sleep,’’ she said, as 
the girl pointed to a cot-mat inside the wigwam. 
The older squaw covered her with a skin and spoke 
to the girl, who brought a stool and sat down at 
the entrance to the wigwam. She is my guard— 
and my friend,” was Hannah’s last thought as she 
fell into heavy sleep. When she wakened, it was 
already past midday; the girl was still sitting in 
the opening of the wigwam on the stool, weaving 
strands of reeds of different colors for a basket. 
She had other baskets, as patterns, beside her on 
the ground-floor. She looked very pretty in the 
afternoon glow. I wonder what her name is? ” 
Hannah spoke out loud, unconsciously, and she was 
surprised to have the girl smile and answer, 
Winniyata.” She evidently understood some 
English or could read Hannah’s thoughts. It is 
a pretty name—and you are very pretty,” Hannah 
told her, and the girl shook her head and laughed. 
What musical names the Indians gave their 
women! thought Hannah. She remembered 
Yawata and her kindness to the girls a few days 
before. It seemed a long time since they had left 
Boston—and her mother—but it was really a few 
hours, only much had happened since then. Poor 
Father! She must see if he had come into the 
camp and talk to him, if he were awake now. 


FROM BOSTON 


136 

As she passed outside the wigwam and looked 
about the encampment (wearing some heavy hose 
of deer-skin and moccasins given by Winniyata), 
she saw only Indians, a few men and squaws. She 
noticed a strange object that had escaped her when 
she came in—that of the totem, as she knew it was 
called. The grotesque face carved on this long 
pole might be a bird or an animal; it had queer 
figures, and the pole was smeared in bright paints 
—red, greens, and blues. Nearer the camp-fire, 
where a group of older Indians were gathered, 
smoking and talking fast, was another, shorter pole, 
and beside this stood an Indian youth, handling a 
long, curved knife and pointing to the top of the 
pole. Hannah almost cried out in fear and hor¬ 
ror, for she saw it was a human scalp. The Indian 
girl took her hand and turned her away from the 
object towards another wigwam where she found 
Henry Harwood. He was lying on a skin and two 
Indians were rubbing something on his feet. He 
tried to smile at Hannah. “ Did they chew bark 
to a pulp and put it on your ear and hand?’’ he 
asked. That is what they do for frost-bites.” 

She must ask him one question that was upper¬ 
most in her mind, Where was her father? ” For 
some reason, she could not seem to find the words— 
and Harwood was talking about the rest of the 


TO BOSTON 


137 

party. He said that one of the men was much 
better and had gone to meet the Plymouth friends 
and show them where the camp was. One of the 
Indians here,” he said, “was with Hunt in cap¬ 
tivity—you remember that we talked about that 
outrage to the Indians one night before we left 
Boston. He could speak English very well, for 
he was in London two years before he came back 
to his tribe, in one of Captain John Smith’s ships.” 

“Are these the Nauset Indians?” Hannah 
asked, with a moment of fear, remembering what 
Richard had said of their bitterness towards the 
white people. 

“ Yes, we are among the Nausets—for we drifted 
as far as Eastham, a long way from Plymouth— 
and our shallop must be stuck fast in the ice, for 
the weather is very cold to-day and the harbor will 
be frozen. 

“The sachem of the Nauset,” he continued, 
hoping to keep Hannah’s mind away from thoughts 
of her father as long as possible, “ that sachem, 
Aspinet, had died from exposure in the swamps 
when Hobomok roused the anger of Captain Miles 
Standish on a false charge against them, and some 
had been killed and others scattered. The squaw 
sachem was now the ruler; she has married one of 
their medicine men who was coming to see how 


FROM BOSTON 


138 

my frost-bites are/’ he ended with an attempt at 
another smile. 

“And Father?” Hannah managed to say, 
“ Then he will know what to do for him. Is he 
still asleep? ” 

With an effort to speak, Harwood hesitated, 
then he said, in a low tone, “Yes, Hannah, he is 
asleep and will not suffer any more.” 

By some intuition, she knew that she must not 
ask more questions now. But where was her 
father? They would not leave him alone on the 
shore. Perhaps he was in that other wigwam near 
the pole, still asleep, but she thought he would 
send for her, to make sure she was all right. 

Only after she had reached Plymouth and was 
staying in the home of Dr. Fuller, did Hannah 
know what she feared to ask and would not let 
herself believe—that her father had died, even 
before she was taken away from him by the kind 
Indian women. The older men knew his condition 
and had sent an Indian youth for the Indian doctor. 
He said incantations over the man who had already 
perished from exhaustion, following his night of 
exposure to the frost and ice. Then, with mourn¬ 
ful faces and loud laments in the Indian tongue, 
these men had digged a hole in the ground, near 
the shore, and had laid his body there. They piled 


TO BOSTON 


139 

wood and pine boughs over the newly-made grave 
to keep away the wolves. 

“ These were the Nauset Indians,” she thought, 
about whom Richard had warned her, because they 
hated the English and would scalp or torture them. 
Yet they had given her father every honor in his 
burial; they had been so kind to her and to Henry 
Harwood, and had sent Indian runners in the bitter 
cold to get friends from Plymouth. 

As the sun disappeared over the horizon, on the 
evening that Hannah arrived at the Indian en¬ 
campment, the air was less frosty than in the pre¬ 
vious hours. The sharp “ touch of winter ” was to 
be followed by a day or two of milder weather 
before the steady cold and ice settled down on Cape 
Cod. The Indians prepared a celebration around 
the big fire and the poles. They were to honor, in 
their way, the young Indian who had brought back 
the scalp of an enemy—one of the hated Tarren- 
tines. He was to receive his deserved honor, of 
being included now among the warriors.” 

The men paid no attention to the young white 
girl as she sat down, as far as she could get from 
the dim sight of that scalp, on the outside of the 
group of women. Winniyata and one of the 
squaws who came with her from the shore, sat 


140 


FROM BOSTON 


beside her. She was wrapped in a warm blanket, 
and the squaw placed a skin over her feet. The 
Indian men seemed to be eating some meat, like 
venison, using their hands and white teeth to pull 
off pieces from the bones. 

After they had eaten, the younger men began to 
leap into the air, sounding strange, weird tones on 
their tom-toms. They joined hands and danced in 
a circle, uttering loud yells and pointing to the 
scalp on the pole. Then they brought knives and 
arrows, with a cask of corn which they placed 
before the fire. With a strong gesture, the pow¬ 
wow, or priest, came forward, uttered words in 
incantation, lifted his hands to heaven, and threw 
all tho offerings on the fire. Then they shouted 
and danced again. Such was their tribute to the 
gods of revenge. 

Oh, please ,Hannah almost cried aloud, 
“don’t burn that corn! Let me take it back to 
Boston where it would be such a help to the fam¬ 
ilies that have almost nothing to eat but fish and 
nuts 1 ” 

During this dance the older Indians had smoked 
their long pipes, still sitting on the ground. At 
times they would ejaculate “ Ugh! ” and point to¬ 
wards the scalp or the victorious youth. Gradually 


TO BOSTON 


141 

the dance, which was resumed after the offerings 
had been made by the powwow, became less rapid 
and the younger men squatted on the ground, still 
laughing and talking. Then the women rose and 
joined hands, singing a strange song which was 
musical in sound, even though it had no meaning 
in words to Hannah. They beckoned to her to rise 
and sit on the stump of a tree, a little farther away 
from the pole, beside an aged squaw who was too 
lame to take part in their dances. She was not 
pleasant to look at, thought Hannah, for her face 
was seared and wrinkled and her hair was untidy— 
but she said soft words to the girl as they sat to¬ 
gether, and watched the women dance in a circle. 

It was difficult for Hannah to keep the tears 
from her eyes whenever she thought of her father, 
and dared not —would not —admit to herself that 
he was dead. He must be sleeping. She must not 
cry, for the Indians did not like to see such signs 
of weakness in old or young, so Captain Milbourne 
had told them on shipboard. She would watch 
the dance and try to forget. The circle of women 
dancers surrounded the victorious youth. They 
placed a head-dress of feathers on his head. 
Hannah noticed that he looked at Winniyata, with 
more than usual attention. Then she saw that some 
of the older squaws were pointing at Winniyata 


142 


FROM BOSTON 


and the youth and making gestures; often they 
would nod their heads. Winniyata did not seem to 
care for such suggestions, for she would not look 
at the youth nor smile at the women. “ Perhaps 
she has a lover in some other encampment,” 
thought Hannah. 

After the dancing was over, some of the younger 
men threw dice, made of wood or bone, and became 
much excited over the results. The older men 
watched them in silence. In the light of the fire, 
two of the women began to mend some snow-shoes, 
with strong hemp and pieces of hide; they knew 
that soon these would be needed by the hunters and 
the runners. 

The moon was shining clear at its full, as Han¬ 
nah followed the beckoning of Winniyata and went 
towards the wigwam where she had had food and 
sleep. She was given a stone bowl filled with 
some mixture of corn meal, ground fine, and what 
tasted like raisins or cherries. It was better than 
the dish she had eaten before—and she was hun¬ 
grier than she had ever been in Boston. She 
looked at that full moon,” and thought what her 
father had said, that they would be safe to start 
on their journey when it was at the full and no 
storm was likely. How little he realized what 
was before them! Again, in her heart, burned the 


TO BOSTON 


143 


question: “Where is my father?” and her eyes 
filled with tears of loneliness and foreboding. 

She found that Henry Harwood had been moved 
to the wigwam next to this one where she was to 
sleep, in the care of Winniyata and an older squaw. 
A fire of pine-knots was burning outside their wig¬ 
wam and Henry Harwood spoke to Hannah and 
called her to say, “ Good-night.” An old Indian 
was sitting by him, talking in broken English. 
Harwood held out his left hand towards Hannah— 
his right hand was in a sling. She sat down on a 
skin rug beside him, and her eyes filled with tears 
as she thought of her father and saw the helpless 
condition of Harwood. He was distressed at the 
signs of grief on her face, and he feared she would 
not sleep from worry and thoughts of her father; 
so he tried to divert her mind by telling her some 
of the Indian legends that the old man had told 
him, as they sat by the wigwam door and looked 
at the full moon. 

“ Do you see the face in the moon, Hannah? ” 
he asked. “ Well, that is an old lady, the grand¬ 
mother of a warrior, so my Indian friend. Wee- 
tamo, tells me. This sharp-tempered warrior be¬ 
came angry at something his grandmother said to 
him, so he took her in his strong arms and threw 
her up into the air. It was a cruel thing to do, 


FROM BOSTON 


144 

but he was so wild with bad temper that he did not 
know what he was doing. It was full moon, you 
know, and the moon saw the old woman in the air, 
so he opened his arms to her. There she is now! 
Don’t you see her face? ” 

Hannah’s thoughts were diverted, as Harwood 
hoped they would be, by this legendary tale. She 
looked closely at the moon but shook her head and 
said: “ But I always thought—and I still think— 
that face is not a woman’s face. We always talk 
about ‘ the man in the moon.’ ” 

“Oh, well,” laughed Harwood. have 

always been mistaken. It is without doubt the face 
of an old squaw, the grandmother of the Indian 
warrior. Another legend is that a crow brought 
the first grain of Indian corn—and not one Indian 
in a hundred would kill a crow.” 

“ They must like the sound of their loud ^ Caw! 
Caw! ’ better than I do,” was her reply. “ Don’t 
the crows eat up the sprouts and little ears of the 
corn? Yet the Indians seem to have plenty of 
corn.” 

“ ‘ The Indian women stand guard over the corn¬ 
fields, and the boys and girls help them to scare 
away the crows,’ was the explanation Weetamo 
gave me. Do you know what the Indians 
thought ships were, when they first saw them?” 


TO BOSTON 


145 

he continued his questions as he saw Hannah’s 
interest. 

“ No, what did they believe about them? ” she 
asked. 

They thought the first ship was a walking 
island, that the masts were trees, and the sails were 
white clouds.” 

The pine-cone fire was dying and the cold wind 
made Hannah shiver. Winniyata beckoned her to 
come to their wigwam, so she bade Henry Har¬ 
wood and Weetamo “Good-night”; she tried to 
make a curtsey, but she was still lame and stifif. 
She heard the younger men becoming more excited 
at their gambling game, but Winniyata crooned a 
musical song in low tones as the girls lay down on 
their mats, and Hannah soon fell asleep. 


146 


FROM BOSTON 


CHAPTER VIII 

HANNAH SPENDS SIX WEEKS IN PLYMOUTH 

Plymouth in late December, 1630, seemed like 
the promised land ” to Henry Harwood and 
Hannah, when they arrived there after their ship¬ 
wreck and three days spent among the Nauset 
Indians. The cold was more intense and the 
shallop, sent by Governor Bradford, had to make 
two attempts before it could enter the harbor 
through the ice. It was decided that they must 
wait for a “thaw” (that was sure to come some¬ 
time in January), before they could float the 
smaller shallop in which Garrett had made his 
fateful voyage, and bring it in safety to Boston 
harbor. Meantime, an Indian runner had taken 
a message to Salem, to Governor Endicott, of the 
sad ending of this expedition, with assurance to 
Mistress Garrett and young Mistress Harwood 
that the survivors would be well cared for in Plym¬ 
outh. The word would be relayed by runners, 
or some one on horseback, to Boston, as the harbor 
was already freezing over. 

Hannah said “ Good-bye ” to Winniyata with 


» 


TO BOSTON 


H7. 

real affection for her companionship, and the 
Indian girl replied with the same word, and added, 
“ Come again.” Through Weetamo, Hannah told 
her that she hoped some day she might see her 
in Boston where, she was sure, Yawata, the 
sister of Sagamore John, would welcome her. She 
added, “ My mother will be glad to see you and 
thank you for all your kindness to me.” She 
wished that she had some necklace or jewelry that 
she could give this beautiful Indian girl and she 
decided to ask Dr. Fuller to bring something to 
her, when he might be riding down the Cape on 
horseback, to see some sick people, as he often did 
in warmer weather. 

At Plymouth, Henry Harwood was taken into 
the home of Stephen Hopkins, near that of Dr. 
Fuller, so that he could receive attention for his 
legs which were still almost paralyzed from the 
frozen condition. He must build up his strength 
by good food and warmth. Hannah was welcomed 
by Mistress Fuller. The house was well-built, and 
fortified against cold and storms. I was not here 
to endure the sufferings and hardships of the first 
winter in Plymouth,” Mistress Fuller told Han¬ 
nah, “ for I came the next year when the worst 
illness was over. Some of our houses, however, are 
on the same street, Leyden, where the settlers built 


FROM BOSTON 


148 

their log cabins. On that hillside above the har¬ 
bor, they planted their first corn to hide from the 
Indians the many graves that had been dug there, 
during that first long winter. Fifteen of the 
twenty-nine women who sailed from England and 
Holland were buried on that hillside; among them 
were Rose Standish, Mary Allerton, Katherine 
Carver, Alice Mullins, the mother of Priscilla 
Alden, and the mother of Elizabeth Tilley, who is 
now our neighbor, the wife of John Howland.” 

I have seen Desire Howland and talked with 
her this morning, when I went to the spring for 
water,” Hannah said. 

Yes, she was named for Desire Minter, one of 
the few women who returned to England. She 
was a friend of Governor Carver and his wife and, 
after their death, she lived with Elizabeth Tilley.” 

I saw such a nice dog near the spring,” inter¬ 
rupted Hannah who was far more interested in the 
present-day Plymouth than in its earlier days of 
sickness and privation. She had either milk or 
treacle on her porridge every morning, and she 
concluded that this must be “ the land flowing with 
milk and honey,” of which good John Cotton had 
preached. 

“Was Squanto with his spaniel dog?” asked 
Mistress Fuller. “They are close companions. 


TO BOSTON 


149 


The big mastiff that came from Holland used to 
be a fine nurse for the children. He would watch 
over them when they slept, and never lost sight of 
them if they went for a walk.” 

“John Billington ought to have had this dog 
with him when he wandered away and was found 
and cared for by the same kind Nauset Indians 
who helped us in our trouble.” Hannah’s face 
grew sad, as it often did at memories of her father’s 
death and the tragic ending of their “ adventure.” 

Mistress Fuller tried to cheer the girl at such 
times. “ Come, Hannah, put on your new apron, 
with the lace edge, that Elizabeth Howland gave 
you yesterday, and we will take some meat-pie and 
furmenty over to Barbara Standish, for I hear she 
has two sick boys. Miles and Alexander, and little 
time for cooking dainties. The good Captain and 
Lorea will enjoy such food.” 

“ Then may I stop and see Betty Alden? ” she 
asked eagerly. 

“Yes, and you may invite Betty to come home 
with you and spend the night. It will be a lonely 
time for Plymouth women when the families of 
Captain Miles Standish, John Alden, and Jonathan 
Brewster move across the bay to Duxbury, as Cap¬ 
tain Standish has called the place which he has 
already chosen for his home, at the foot of yonder 


150 


FROM BOSTON 


hill,” and she pointed across the inlet to the wooded 
slope and beach that could be seen in the clear 
winter landscape. 

“ May we bring Betty’s little dog with us 
for a walk before sunset? He is as faithful as the 
mastiff that you spoke of, and very playful. He 
reminds me of the little dog at the Indian camp 
of Sagamore John that chewed up my shoe, just 
before we left Boston.” 

Don’t let him chew up your pretty apron 
or your gloves! He is very mischievous. It is a 
pity that he cannot use some of his playful energy 
in catching the rats that bother us. He caught the 
hem of Betty’s new chintz kirtle in his mouth one 
day, in play, and Priscilla told me that it was in 
shreds. I will go for our share of the ^ red cow’s ’ 
milk while you find Betty and take your walk. It 
may be as well if you do not go into Mistress 
Standish’s house, for the boys seem to have a 
fever.” 

The next day was the Sabbath, and Hannah and 
Betty were to wear their “best” and go together 
to “ meeting ” ; then Hannah was to have dinner in 
the Alden home where already she had sampled 
some of the tasty cakes, with many eggs and spices, 
which Priscilla Alden cooked with such skill. It 
was Hannah’s first Sunday, or “ Lord’s Day,” as 


TO BOSTON 


151 

they all called it, in Plymouth and she found a new 
excitement in joining the procession that formed 
below the hill, at the end of Leyden Street. The 
site of the old fort was still treasured for a larger 
building—no better location for overlooking the 
harbor and the surrounding country could be 
found. One corner of the meeting-house was now 
used by Captain Standish for his military supplies 
and his study.” He had several books there 
which had been brought in ships later than the 
Mayflower. The “ strongroom,” where prisoners 
were kept, was in another part of the enlarged fort 
and meeting-house. 

Bart Allerton (Bartholomew was such a long 
name for girls to say!) was sounding the drum, as 
the girls left Dr. Fuller’s house. Hannah was sad¬ 
dened for a moment, as she thought of Richard 
and her mother in Boston—and the father who had 
been so proud when Richard was chosen by Gov¬ 
ernor Winthrop to sound the drum on Trimon- 
taine. She had already learned the names of many 
of the Plymouth boys and girls, and some of their 
parents. Betty supplied links in the imperfect 
chain, in Hannah’s memory, as the procession 
moved towards the fort. There was Giles Hop¬ 
kins, who was often the watchman at the fort, and 
Love Brewster, son of the Elder, with his sister, 


152 


FROM BOSTON 


Fear, who was the wife of Thomas Prence. Ed¬ 
ward Winslow walked beside his tall wife, Su¬ 
sanna, who led their little boy, Josiah, by the hand. 
An older boy, whom they called Peregrine, about 
ten years old, broke away from the line and was 
called back by his mother to walk beside her. He 
must be Peregrine White, the boy born on the 
Mayflower, Hannah decided, as she watched with 
amusement, and some sympathy, his efforts to keep 
in step with the notes of the drum. When his 
mother was not looking, he made droll faces at 
Josiah, to make him laugh, or stepped on the heels 
of Christian Penn, the household helper of the 
Bradfords, who was walking solemnly in front of 
the Winslows. 

Governor Bradford with his lovely wife, Alice 
Southworth, were near the end of the line, with 
their children, William and Mary, and a nephew, 
Nathaniel Morton. “ Don’t you think he is a 
handsome boy? ” asked Betty, when she told Han¬ 
nah his name. She whispered, for it would not be 

seemly ” for little girls to talk on the way to 

meeting”—but they “giggled” a little when 
Mary Becket frowned at them for whispering. 

“Where is Captain Standish?” whispered 
Hannah, and Betty pointed to the group at the base 
of the hill, joining the Governor and his family. 


TO BOSTON 


153 

When Miles Standish arrived, in uniform, with his 
sword in his belt, he and Governor Bradford were 
last in the procession. 

Next year we shall have to come in an ox-team 
from Duxbury,” persisted the whispering Betty. 
She dropped her psalm-book and her father looked 
so stern (when she turned around to pick it up) 
that she became very demure throughout the long 
service. Hannah wanted to ask, Where is Mary 
Chilton? ” but she waited until they were on the 
way home; then she learned that she had gone with 
her husband, John Winslow, on a visit to friends 
in Salem. “ They are very adventuresome in mov¬ 
ing about,” said Mistress Alden. “ You know that 
John is the brother of Edward Winslow, and a man 
of wealth.” 

Elder Brewster was in the meeting-house and, 
with him, was Ralph Smith, the younger minister. 
Hannah remembered that Dr. Fuller had quoted, 
with approval, the words of Elder Brewster who 
thought it were better for ministers to pray often 
and divide their prayers, than to be long and tedi¬ 
ous in the same.” She wished he would send such 
a word to John Wilson in Boston, for she found it 
very hard to sit still for a full hour, by the hour¬ 
glass, when he was praying. She liked, also, the 
psalm-singing at Plymouth. She could not under- 


FROM BOSTON 


154 

stand all the words meant but she listened, as they 
“ lined ” the Eleventh Psalm from Ainsworth’s 
Psalm-Book: 

“ In the Lord do I trust, how then to my soul do ye say, 

As doth a little bird unto your mountain fly away ? 

For lo, the wicked bend their bow, their arrows they prepare 
On string; to shoot at dark at them 
In heart that upright are.” 

She concluded that the writer of that psalm must 

0 

have shared Richard’s fear of attack by the In¬ 
dians. 

When the discourse became too long, and Han¬ 
nah’s feet were cold, she tried to forget her dis¬ 
comfort by noticing the colors of the gowns and 
capes worn by the women. Some of them had 
embroidered petticoats in bright shades. They all 
wore velvet hoods. Some of the men had on 
doublets and jerkins of brown or green, and cloaks 
with brighter linings. Edward Winslow’s jerkin 
was of black velvet and his white rufif showed above 
a cloak with purple lining. Peregrine White was 
restless; his mother shook her head at him when 
he whispered to Josiah and made him laugh. 
Another boy, whom she did not know, was asleep 
until the “ tithing-man ” poked him with his stick 
and made him sit up and seem to listen. Hannah 
wondered if he regally heard what the minister was 


TO BOSTON 


155 


saying, for she was thinking of quite other things— 
of the days in Boston before they left England and 
those in the new country, of her mother and Faith, 
of Richard who would have to be both brother and 
father to them now. It was hard to keep back the 
tears—but the sermon was over, there was another 
psalm and then dinner! She was hungry for that 
spiced meat and dainty sweetmeats that she knew 
Mistress Priscilla Alden would serve. 

Henry Harwood was gaining slowly, iboth in 
physical strength and use of his legs, by the con¬ 
stant attention of Dr. Fuller. He might have to 
walk on crutches for many months to come—and 
he would always bear certain scars from the effects 
of that fateful trip in the ice storm of December. 

My mother bids you have patience,” said Re¬ 
solved White, the older son of Susanna Winthrop, 
when he brought some sassafras leaves and wild 
fowl for broth to Harwood, at Stephen Hopkins’ 
home. She says that she well recalls the first 
winter in Plymouth when Peter Brown and John 
Goodman lost their way in the woods and John 
Goodman froze both of his feet. It was many 
weeks before he was able to walk, but he is all 
well now.” 

It is easy to be patient when I have such good 
care and friendly callers. Mistress Elizabeth 


FROM BOSTON 


156 

Hopkins is never weary in serving good food and 
making life pleasant for us all. Damaris and Ruth 
are cheery companions and Constance, (I suppose 
I should call her Mistress Nicholas Snow) is a 
rare, patient nurse, both in making bandages and 
in reading the Bible, when I might otherwise 
get lonely. If only I might learn how it fares 
with my young wife and Mistress Garrett in 
Boston.’’ 

As he was speaking, Hannah came in, evidently 
with some news to give. “ I can answer your 
question,” she said quickly, with mingled sadness 
and relief in her face and voice. Elder Brewster 
has told me to-day that, through some fisherman 
from Boston, John Wilson has sent news that 
Mother knows ”—she choked and hesitated then 
went on bravely—and she bade us not be anxious 
about her nor Mistress Harwood, but that all are 
well. She bade me to be useful to Mistress Fuller 
and not forget to say my Catechism.” 

After a moment of silence, Hannah asked. 

Mistress Hopkins, do you think I might learn 
to read, and perhaps to write a little, while I am 
in Plymouth? Betty Alden is two years younger 
than I am and she is taught by Mistress Hicks, so 
are Mercy Bradford and Mercy Fuller.” 

Mayhap, it can be arranged by Dr. Fuller. 


TO BOSTON 


157 

Robert Hicks and his goodwife came in the Ann 
with Mistress Fuller. The doctor believes that 
girls as well as boys should learn to read and write. 
I know not how wise it may be to teach them much 
from books, lest they neglect their household tasks. 
Yet Elizabeth Tilley is able to write her name and 
read books that John Howland has in his library— 
and she is a tidy, industrious housewife. But I 
must be industrious and not forget my patient’s 
needs. I will bring him a flagon of that home¬ 
made brew from sassafras and elderberries, which 
is not a bad substitute for English ale. Come, 
you, and help me. Resolved, and there will be 
small flagons for you and Hannah.” 

Elizabeth Tilley Howland loved to play with 
Hannah and with her own little girls. Desire and 
Hope. She gave much encouragement to Hannah 
about learning to read and write. 

“ Of course, you can learn to write. I will let 
you use that inkhorn which John has for keeping 
the records of the colony. Yes, I am proud to 
write my name neatly, when not even Mary Chil¬ 
ton Winslow, with all her fine clothes and rich 
bedding and silver candles, can do more than make 
her mark, M.” 

Who taught you to read and write? ” Hannah 
asked, and with pride came the answer: 


FROM BOSTON 


158 

My husband, John Howland, even before we 
were married, gave me many lessons. He is such 
a fine man, if I do say so. Constance Hopkins and 
I admired his prowess from the day of his accident 
on the Mayflower/^ 

‘‘Tell me about that,” urged Hannah. 

“ It was in a terrible storm that shook the ship 
and carried away dishes and much sail-cloth. In 
trying to save some of the supplies, John Howland 
lost his balance and fell into the water. He was 
keen-witted, and he caught hold of the topsail 
halyard and held on until he was rescued by a 
boat-hook.” 

“ Oh, goodwife, goodwife, what tales are you 
telling the child? She will think I must be some 
kind of a fish to be caught by a hook,” laughed 
John Howland, as he came in. Tall and strong, he 
looked like a “ hero ” to Hannah. 

He wore high buckskin boots, a heavy doublet, 
and a red cap, for he had been working, with 
others, to break out a road to the north of Plymouth 
and the snow was deep. It was cold work, and he 
came close to the fire on the hearth, taking off a 
pair of thick gloves. “ Those gloves were a gift 
from Dr. Fuller, and much appreciated on a day 
like this,” he told Hannah. 

“ I have some gloves that he gave me in Boston. 


TO BOSTON 


159 

I wore them-’’ Hannah did not finish ,the 

sentence, and John Howland looked with sym¬ 
pathy at her, then he said, turning to his wife: 

“ Elizabeth, we must keep Hannah here for 
supper and a romp with the little girls. Desire 
and Hope. Perhaps, she would like to go coasting 
with them on the long hill from the fort to the 
harbor. I will go with them if I can find that 
lazy Indian, Hobomok, and get him to finish 
breaking out the road. The only person who can 
make him work is Miles Standish—and sometimes 
he deceives that good man by his wily ways.” 

There were many rides on the rough sleds, down 
the Leyden Street hill and farther away towards 
Manomet. The older boys came, after they had 
finished their hours of study with Elder Brewster 
and had brought in supplies of wood and done 
other chores about their homes. Samuel Fuller 
and Resolved White, Nathaniel Morton and John 
Cooke, Richard Soule and the Billington boys—all 
had home-made sleds. They would take turns in 
giving rides to the older girls, Sarah and Eliza¬ 
beth Warren, Damaris Hopkins, Mercy Fuller, 
and Hannah, who was already a favorite with both 
boys and girls. She was always ready for any work 
or fun. She never complained at the “ long way 
back up the hill,” as some of the other girls would 



i6o FROM BOSTON 

do—and ask the boys to pull them on their sleds. 
She was lively and quite skilful in steering,” 
when the boys fastened two or three sleds together 
and chose some girl to pilot one of them. 

One day she was out with Desire and Hope 
Howland, walking along the snow-covered road 
beyond Plymouth towards Manomet and Sand¬ 
wich. She heard voices as they came near the 
slight hill by the training-green. It was not green 
now, but covered with smooth ice and snow that 
had been trodden down into a splendid coasting 
course. Evidently, some of the older boys pre¬ 
ferred this to the more crowded route, down from 
Fort Hill in the town. As Hannah and the How¬ 
land children came near, Nathaniel Morton saw 
them and waved a hand in greeting. 

“ Come on, and have a ride,” he called. “ Re¬ 
solved and I will hitch our two sleds together 
and take you all down for a long coast. Would 
you like to try it? ” 

Desire and Hope did not wait for Hannah’s 
own eager reply in favor but ran towards the boys’, 
sleds. They jumped on one and started down the 
hill, without any older person to guide them. 
There were dangerous trees near the foot of that 
little hill and Hannah was frightened as she saw 
the swift, unguided sled approaching this point. 


TO BOSTON i6i 

They passed it in safety, however, and although 
both the girls were spilled ’’ into the deep snow, 
at the side of the track, they were unhurt and came 
back, laughing and ready for another “ try.” 

“All right, but this time you must let Hannah 
pilot you, while I get the two sleds fastened for 
the next trip all together,” warned Nathaniel. 

So Hannah sat down with Desire and Hope 
tucked in, in front of her, and grasped the rope, 
ready for a quick slide. 

“ That’s my sled you have,” and Francis Billing- 
ton stood in her path. “ I’d like it myself. Girls 
always come to spoil good times,” he added in a 
surly tone. 

“ Oh, I’m sorry if it’s your sled but can’t we 
have just this one slide on it while the boys are 
fixing the others for us? ” she asked in a friendly 
tone. She had not seen Francis Billington very 
often in her month at Plymouth but he never 
seemed to be on good terms with the other boys. 
He did not answer, so she assumed that he was 
willing and she started the sled down the hill. 
Hardly had it got any impetus when Francis 
Billington ran after them, grasped the rope out 
of her hands and thus swerved the sled around 
so quickly that all three girls fell out on the snow. 
Francis Billington laughed in a hateful way, 


i 62 


FROM BOSTON 


grabbed his sled and started off at a fast run down 
the hill, for he knew that the other boys would, 
probably, fight him if he stayed near them—and 
he was a coward. 

Never mind! We’ll get even with him yet— 
he shall pay for that mean trick to-night before 
he goes to bed,” said Nathaniel, with angry face, 
as he picked up Desire whose knee had been cut, 
as she fell under the sled. Hannah had a finger 
that hurt her—probably she had sprained it as 
she put out her hand to save herself—and her 
cape was torn. Hope escaped, but she was crying 
from fright and sympathy with Desire. 

‘‘ Get on my sled, all of you,” said Resolved 
White, “ and I will draw you down to the How¬ 
land home.” 

You take the little girls and Hannah will slide 
down with me,” Nathaniel suggested. “Our fun 
is spoiled for to-day by that sneak, Francis Billing- 
ton, and I’m going to find him and settle it.” 

Bayberry salve soon brought relief to Desire’s 
cut knee but her father was indignant when Han¬ 
nah told him what Francis Billington had done. 
“ That family has been a pest to this colony,” he 
told her. “ The father deserved his hanging as a 
murderer a few weeks ago. The mother is a quar¬ 
relsome scold, and the boys play cowardly tricks 


TO BOSTON 


163 

like this. Take off your hood, Hannah, and join 
us at evening meal that the goodwife is already 
cooking. I can smell corn-meal cake, and I know 
there is porridge.” 

“ With plenty of milk to eat on it! No wonder 
that Dr. Fuller says I am growing fat,” was Han- 
nah^s response, as she helped Elizabeth Howland 
to serve the supper. She wished her mother and 
Richard might share it. 

^‘H ow is this little scholar getting on with Mis¬ 
tress Hicks? ” asked John Howland, as the women 
cleared away the trenchers and washed the wooden 
spoons. 

“ It is not so easy as it looks,” laughed Hannah. 
“ I try so hard to make the letters as Elder Brew¬ 
ster and Mistress Hicks make them—but they do 
not look like theirs. I know I shall never learn 
to spell—that is the hardest.” 

“ Spelling is not so important for women,” John 
Howland comforted her, “ for many fine letter- 
writers spell the same word in many different ways 
—even Governor Bradford does so. Our good 
Queen Elizabeth never learned to spell.” 

“ I am learning to copy the words of the text 
that Robert Cushman gave in his sermon in Plym¬ 
outh several years ago. Elder Brewster says it was 
a noble sermon. Wouldn^t John Wilson be sur- 


FROM BOSTON 


164 

prised if I could write the letters of the text and 
bring them back to Boston? ” 

“Aye, it was a noble sermon, and the text re¬ 
mains in our memories,” said Elizabeth Howland, 
as she put a fresh bandage from one of John How¬ 
land’s old handkerchiefs on the hurt knee of Desire. 

“ I know it by heart: ‘ Let no man seek his own; 
but every man another’s wealth.’ ” Hannah re¬ 
peated the words with Elizabeth. 

“ That would be a fine text for Mary Allerton 
to embroider on the sampler she is making. You 
know she married Thomas Cushman, the son of 
this Robert,” Elizabeth explained to Hannah. “ I 
know no better way to learn the letters of the alpha¬ 
bet than by embroidering them on a sampler.” 

“ You mustn’t make Hannah such a scholar that 
she will fail as a good housewife,” said John How¬ 
land, with a teasing smile. 

“Little danger of that, John. Hannah is an 
excellent cook and is deft at mending rents in ker¬ 
sey and linen. That cape will need your needle’s 
skill—thanks to Francis Billington.” 

“ My mother taught me how to knit and mend, 
■for she was a skilful sempstress for the Countess 
of Lincoln and Lady Arbella. And I am to learn 
to do something else which will help Mother to 
earn some money for us, now that Father is—gone.” 


TO BOSTON 165 

What are you going to do? ”—they asked the 
question together. 

“ I shall learn to make candles of bayberry. We 
need more candles in Boston, for oil for the pewter 
lamps is costly. We burn pine-knots for light in 
our log cabins. Governor Winthrop has asked for 
more candles from England, with nails and glass, 
but no one knows how soon the ships with supplies 
will get across the ocean in this winter weather. 
Mother used to mould candles in old Boston, and 
sometimes I helped her.” 

“ Where will you get material for the candles, 
child, for wax and tallow are scarce in the win¬ 
ter? ” queried Elizabeth Howland. 

The candles are not to be of tallow or wax 
but of bayberry! 

“ But the candles of bayberry were all moulded 
last autumn, Hannah, for we Plymouth housewives 
met at the home of Elizabeth Warren and worked 
for several days, to make up our winter’s supply 
of candles, both of tallow and of bayberry. Only 
within the last two years have we used bayberry 
for other things than salve and soap—but now we 
think the candles are more fragrant and last longer 
than other kinds. We gather the bayberries near 
the settlement.” 

You let Hope and me help you gather bunches 



i66 


FROM BOSTON 


of bayberry and bring them home in the basket 
that Squanto gave us/’ said Desire. 

Mistress Warren has some bayberry branches 
that she saved because of their fragrance; she has 
kept them in a jar above her fireplace. She says 
that she fears the berries will drop, now that they 
are dry, if we are not careful when we move the 
branches—but that I may have them. When they 
are boiled and skimmed and then melted over, and 
put into a candle-rod or mould, with the wicks, 
they have a beautiful color. I’m sure Mother will 
be glad of them. But I must go back to Mistress 
Fuller’s to make sauce of dried apples, to eat with 
the spiced meat to-morrow.” 

Good-bye and good luck to you, child,” said 
John Howland, “ and perhaps next year, should we 
go to Boston, we would see a swinging sign, like 
those in London-town, in front of shops and inns, 
that would read: ^Hannah Garrett, candle- 
moulder to the Queen.’ ” 


TO BOSTON 


167 


CHAPTER IX 

DONATION PARTY AND RETURN TO BOSTON 

Word came to Plymouth, the middle of Febru¬ 
ary, that the ice was breaking up in Boston harbor 
and it would be open for sailing vessels. Dr. 
Fuller said that Henry Harwood might venture 
back on the shallop or some larger boat. In the 
spring, said the doctor, he would be coming to 
Boston and would see how the still crippled legs 
were progressing. It might have been well if Har¬ 
wood had been willing to stay longer in Plymouth, 
to keep up his strength with good food and daily 
care, but he was anxious to return to his young 
wife. 

The shallop, which Richard Garrett had bor¬ 
rowed from William Coddington, had been 
brought from Nauset to Plymouth and repaired, 
but it was not tested as to its seaworthy qualities. 
Hannah and Henry Harwood would be sent home 
in a larger shallop, furnished by William Wright, 
the carpenter of Plymouth and brother-in-law of 
Governor Bradford. Two of the men who had 
been in Garrett’s party would sail back in his bor- 


i68 


FROM BOSTON 


rowed shallop, keeping as close as they could to 
Wright’s boat. One of these men had stopped at 
Eastham on that freezing day, when he started to 
get aid from Plymouth; then he had been taken 
on snowshoes by friendly Indians to Sandwich, or 
Scusset, where he had stayed with some fishermen 
through the winter. They had brought him, in a 
little sloop to Plymouth, for he was a good seaman. 

Hannah was to have a woman companion on her 
voyage to Boston. Humility Cooper, who had 
come in the Mayflower, had been urged by English 
friends to return to her old home, for she was not 
strong enough to endure the cold winters of New 
England. Elizabeth Howland was sorry to have 
her go, for she was her mother’s cousin and had 
been very kind and helpful to the Tilley and How¬ 
land families. Edward Winslow was soon to leave 
for England, on one of his many commissions for 
the colony; he wished to consult with Governor 
Winthrop before he sailed, so he would stop in 
Boston for Humility Cooper, a little later in the 
spring. 

There were still snowdrifts about Plymouth, and 
the air was keen and frosty, but the sun was higher 
every day, and chances favored a safe passage to 
Boston, if they should choose a day when the sea 
was calm. 


TO BOSTON 


169 

No more drifting out beyond Gurnet’s Nose,” 
said John Howland. “ Some day there will be a 
beacon light placed there, to guide and warn 
sailors.” 

“ Better make them ‘ twin lights,’ ” laughingly 
said Priscilla Alden—one at each end of the little 
island.” 

“Add a bridge to the land at Duxbury,” said 
Captain Standish, taking up the subject in a joking 
mood, “ then we could more easily gather in the 
lobsters that are found all about Gurnet.” 

Two days before Hannah left Plymouth, she had 
been surprised by a “donation-party” at Dr. 
Fuller’s, arranged by her many friends; Elizabeth 
Howland had started the plan, and found every 
one eager to help in its success. The girl, who had 
been through such a tragic experience and lost her 
father, yet never allowed her troubles to make her 
unpleasant company for others, had made a warm 
place for herself in the affections of the Plymouth 
women. The men—older, like Elder Brewster and 
Governor Bradford and Stephen Hopkins, and 
those who were younger—admired her courage and 
pluck. 

She was sitting at a table in the Howland home, 
laboriously trying to make her letters “neatly,” 


FROM BOSTON 


170 

while her eyes would wander over the books and 
out of the window towards Duxbury and what was 
already called “ Captain’s Hill,” because Miles 
Standish had chosen it for his new home. She had 
copied a few texts of sermons for her mother—and 
on each she had written her name, both with labor 
and pride. Mistress Fuller had borrowed, from 
Barbara Standish, the verse which Lorea would 
work into her sampler when she was old enough 
to embroider nice letters in cross-stitch. Hannah 
thought it was a beautiful motto, when it was read 
to her, so John Howland had copied it, in his fine 
handwriting, for her to show to her mother and 
Faith. She would ask Mistress Anne Bradstreet, 
the poetess, to write some lines for Hannah to em¬ 
broider—then she would have a sentiment of her 
very own, 

“ I wonder if we shall ever have enough linen 
and colored threads to use for samplers in Boston,” 
Hannah said. I would rather make candles and 
brew herbs for medicine than sew,” she confessed. 

Every girl must like to sew, child, for that is 
a large part of her education,” Elizabeth Howland 
advised her. “ Mistress Barbara Standish is expert 
at embroidering fine lace caps and making sam¬ 
plers. Have you learned the motto for Lorea’s 
masterpiece? ” 


TO BOSTON 


171 

“ Yes, I know it by heart: 

“ ‘ Lorea Standish is my Name. 

Lord, Guide my Heart that I may do thy Will, 

And fill my Days with such convenient Skill 
As will conduce to Virtue void of Shame, 

And I will give the Glory to thy Name.’ 

What does ‘ conduce ’ mean? and ^ void ’ ? ’’ asked 
Hannah. 

Elizabeth Howland was seeking for an answer— 
she had decided to say that John Howland would 
explain the words best to her—when there was a 
sudden noise of much laughter and stamping of 
feet and, as the door opened, a gay voice called, 
Hannah Garrett, are you at home? ” 

At the door stood Damaris and Deborah Hop¬ 
kins with Mary Allerton (or Mrs. Thomas Cush¬ 
man), Priscilla Alden and Barbara Standish be¬ 
hind them, laughingly lifting in a wicker cradle 
full of “ surprises.” One had brought a pumpkin, 
another two measures of corn; there were bunches 
of dried apples and more of sassafras. Even more 
exciting was an apron and a flowered kirtle for 
Hannah, a pair of gloves for her mother, and a red 
knitted cap for Richard. Mary Chilton Winslow 
had sent a knitted bag, mate to the one given her 
on her wedding day, which had been much ad¬ 
mired by Hannah when she spent an afternoon in 


FROM BOSTON 


172 

the Winslow home. She wished she might tell 
Prudence Starr, Mary’s cousin in old Boston, all 
about this home, with its fine furniture, pewter and 
Venetian glass—and the gift of this beautiful bag! 
How lovely it was in color and shape! 

The visitors had brought food for the surprise 
party,” cold joints and salads, and some of those 
possets and manchets—little cakes made of flour, 
sugar, and spice by Priscilla Alden—dainties 
which would make the Boston children shout with 
joy. Hannah decided that she would not eat her 
share this afternoon—she had had them so often 
during her stay in Plymouth—but she would take 
them home to Richard and Faith. She surely 
would have a big package of gifts for her family. 

After supper, they taught Hannah how to make 
corn pop ” and become all fluffy and white. This 
was a trick that they had learned of the Indian, 
Squanto, and the wife of Hobomok, who had 
shown the children of Miles Standish how to put 
the corn in a skillet and hold it over a hot] Ifire, 
until it popped open.” ‘‘ It will be a long time 
before the Boston people will have corn enough to 
^ pop,’ unless their supply is much larger than it 
was last winter,” Hannah said. However she was 
glad to watch the kernels open and to eat the del¬ 
icate food, so white and well-flavored. 


TO BOSTON 


m 

It would be hard to leave these kind-hearted 
Plymouth friends and go back where food was, 
probably, still scarce and there must be sadness and 
anxiety. Hannah did not linger on this thought 
that came to her the night after the donation- 
party.” She looked forward to seeing her mother, 
and Richard and Faith, and she anticipated telling 
them all the wonderful things that had come into 
her life during the six weeks at Plymouth. She 
hoped they would not want her to tell about that 
night on the shallop, and the sleep that came upon 
Father, so that he could not waken. She would 
tell them all about the Plymouth families who had 
been so kind to her. Richard might not like to 
have her say that Captain Miles Standish was not 
so good-looking as Governor Bradford or Edward 
Winslow—or even as John Alden and John How¬ 
land. He seemed small and awkward beside these 
men. She had said similar words one day to Dr. 
Fuller (when he had taken her to the Captain’s 
house on one of his visits) and the doctor had 
laughed and said, Well, Hannah, our good Cap¬ 
tain looks better in his breastplate and helmet than 
he does in fustian. He is a valiant man, in spite 
of his small stature. That rascal, Thomas Morton, 
used to call him ^ Captain Shrimp,’ in derision of 
his size and red hair. Some day, however, there 


FROM BOSTON 


174 

will be a monument to Miles Standish for his 
services to Plymouth Colony.” 

^^Yes, it should stand on the top of Captain’s 
Hill in Duxbury,” Hannah suggested with lively 
imagination and unconscious prophecy. 

Hannah was surprised to see so many gathered 
to say Good-bye to her, the morning she left Plym¬ 
outh dock. Nathaniel Morton, with his mastiff, 
was there. Giles Hopkins was throwing sticks into 
the water to tempt Betty Alden’s dog to swim 
after them—but the little dog shivered and sniffed. 
He knew it was not time yet for seashore bathing. 

There were the White boys and Samuel Fuller, 
Constant Southworth and John Cooke, and Francis 
Billington, standing aloof as usual. Hannah 
thought it would be polite to thank them all, boys 
and girls, for coming to see her this morning, and 
for their kindness to her while she had been at 
Plymouth. She was sure Lady Arbella and her 
mother would wish her to remember her man¬ 
ners.” When she said “ Thank you for coming ” 
to the boys, Francis Billington sneered, “ We didn’t 
come to see you; we came to see the shallop ”—then 
he laughed in a teasing way. It was not very polite, 
thought Hannah, and she was embarrassed; but 
perhaps Richard might have said the same words, 
for boys do not like to be considered interested in 


TO BOSTON 


1 75 


the affairs of girls. As she stepped into the shal¬ 
lop, Nathaniel Morton came forward and said, 

Good-bye,” and his mastiff leaped about Hannah, 
who patted the dog and said: “ Do you want to go, 
too? You’re such a big dog there wouldn’t be any 
room for me in the boat. You are better off to stay 
with your master”—and she waved a smiling 

Good-bye.” She recalled that Mistress Fuller 
had said that the father of Nathaniel Morton died 
soon after they reached Plymouth; probably, he 
felt sorry for her because she had lost her father. 

That loss seemed more keen as they traversed 
the course back to Boston. Again the sun had given 
a false promise—the clouds were gathering and 
scurries of snow came fitfully, as the shallop 
reached Nantasket. Mistress Fuller had prepared 
an ample luncheon for the voyagers, including a 
wild turkey, stuffed with nuts, and some of her de¬ 
licious cheese-cakes. She had added three bottles 
of her home brew. Hannah wished that she felt 
more hungry, for the food was so tempting, and she 
knew she would not find such in Boston. She could 
save her share of the fowl and cakes to share with 
her mother and Richard and Faith—there would 
be “ just a taste ” for each. 

She was warm, for she had been given a knitted 
hood and muffler by Elizabeth Howland, and a 


FROM BOSTON 


176 

heavy cloak of woolen, lined with red satin, that 
Mistress Winslow had sent to her the day before 
‘‘ with compliments of Susanna White Winslow 
and Mary Chilton Winslow.” Humility Cooper, 
who had been talking with Henry Harwood about 
the affairs of the two settlements in Plymouth and 
Boston, now realized suddenly that Hannah was 
feeling lonely and sad. She suggested that she 
should lie down on the mat of braided rushes in 
the cabin, with a skin rug over her, and have a little 
nap, so she would be rested when they reached 
Boston. She sat beside the girl and held her hand, 
humming softly the words of an old Psalm until 
Hannah fell asleep, as the shallop sailed on to 
Boston harbor. 

“Hey, gadfly! You surely have been doing 
some gadding this time,” was the tactful greeting 
of Richard as Hannah, clutching her precious pos¬ 
sessions and gifts, stepped off the boat and on the 
dock at Boston. It made her laugh when she had 
expected to cry. Then her mother and Faith kissed 
her and smiled, and Faith wanted to know, at once, 
what Hannah had in her baskets and bundles. 
Mother had told them to be cheerful when Han¬ 
nah came, for it would be very hard for her to 
return without her father. 


TO BOSTON 


177 


Her mother was so brave—not a complaint nor a 
tear. She seemed very thin, and so did Richard 
and Faith, in comparison with the sturdy young 
people whom Hannah had left in Plymouth. They 
all spoke of her fine color and plump face. Mis¬ 
tress Harwood cried a little, when she saw her 
husband’s crippled condition, but he spoke cheerily 
to her, as the seamen lifted him from the shallop 
and placed him on a litter of covered boards, on 
which two younger men would carry him to the 
Garrett home. 

Humility Cooper was to go to Thomas Dudley’s 
home to remain until Edward Winslow should 
come for her to sail for England. Samuel and 
Patience Dudley were at the dock, with Stephen 
Winthrop, to greet them. There was Mistress Anne 
Bradstreet farther down the lane, talking with 
Mistress Dudley and waving her handkerchief in 
welcome. Hannah wondered if she had written 
any more poetry. How proud she would be to tell 
Mistress Anne that now she could read simple 
words and write even more than her name. Rich¬ 
ard was packing her gifts into a cart which he had 
made from some bent iron and wood, to carry 
clams and fish from the shore to thei log cabins. 
“ He will soon be a wheelwright,” said Mother 
proudly, as Hannah examined the wheels. In 


178 FROM BOSTON 

the winter he can make the cart into a sled. Gov¬ 
ernor Winthrop is much pleased with Richard’s 
ideas about moving the frame house, and making 
charts for lanes and plots of ground in the settle¬ 
ment.” Hannah looked at her tall brother with a 
new realization of his ability and courage. 

Sharp was the contrast between Plymouth and 
Boston in that winter of 1631. Abundance and 
good cheer, plenty of good food and clothes, with 
houses furnished almost as in old England with 
pewter, cabinets, chairs, and chests, soft beds and 

pillow-beeres,” in Plymouth; in Boston, scanty 
portions of food, dim fires and few candles, houses 
that were makeshift shelters against the storms and 
cold. Hannah looked at the threadbare clothes 
worn by most of the women, even when they wore 
their “best” to meeting on the Sabbath, and she 
thought of the petticoats of quilted satin and the 
embroidered kirtles, caught at the hips with 
bunches of gay ribbons, that she had seen in Plym¬ 
outh homes. 

When she spoke to her mother of the lack of 
varied food here and the “ feasts ” where she had 
been—never with an accent of complaint for her¬ 
self but sympathy for them—she was told that the 
worst was past now because the Lyon had come in 
early in February, with a load of supplies. 


TO BOSTON 


179 

‘‘We were close to famine,” she said, “ for the 
last batch of meal at Governor Winthrop’s house 
was in the oven; he had divided his share with 
those in need—but the last was reached.” 

“ Dr. Fuller told me that, during that second 
winter in Plymouth, rations were so low that their 
food ‘ was only a bit of fish or lobster without any 
bread or relish but a cup of fair spring water,’ ” 
Hannah recalled. 

“We were in much the same condition,” con¬ 
tinued her mother. “ Governor Winthrop decreed 
a ‘ fast day ’ for prayers that the supply-ship might 
come to our rescue.” 

“To have a fast day was not anything unusual,” 
Richard said. “A feast day would be more of a 
novelty”—but his mother chided him gently for 
what she feared might be impiety. Hannah looked 
at her brother, so tall but so thin, and she knew that 
his words were from lack of food, not lack of rever¬ 
ence. 

“ The very day that was to be a fast day, Feb¬ 
ruary 5th, dawned bright and clear,” said Mistress 
Garrett. “As we gathered at midday for the 
sermon by John Wilson, under the ‘great elm’ 
(for it was warmer out of doors in the sun than 
in the cold meeting-house) some one looked 
through a spy-glass out to sea—and there was a 


i8o 


FROM BOSTON 


ship trying to enter the harbor. As it came nearer, 
we saw it was the Lyon, with good Captain Pierce 
bringing us cattle and meal and other supplies and, 
as the Psalmist says, ^ our mourning was turned 
into joy.’ 

Now we can have some milk for our por¬ 
ridge,’ said Faith. ‘ If poor kitty had lived, she 
would have had a dish of milk and a scrap of 
meat.’ ” 

“ I wondered where kitty was,” Hannah said, 
but we had so many other things to talk about 
last night that I did not ask. What happened to 
her? ” 

“ She got caught in a trap set for bears,” Rich¬ 
ard explained. She was always mewing around 
in a hungry fashion, for we could give her nothing 
but fish or nuts. She probably wandered off into 
the woods to find food and got caught. It seemed 
best to end her suffering when we found her, so I 
borrowed a musket.” 

Poor kitty! She was one of the victims of 
pioneer adventuring in the new land,” said their 
mother with a blend of a sigh and a smile. For a 
moment her face became sad as she thought of that 
other “ adventurer.” “ Now we will have pump¬ 
kins, barley and meat in small quantities, and milk 
for cheeses, so we have no cause for fear of famine. 


TO BOSTON 


i8i 

Governor Winthrop has appointed February 22nd 
as a feast day, not a fast day, in gratitude for our 
deliverance and blessings. You are back in time to 
keep this joyful day with us, daughter! ” 

“ Yes, and we’ll begin our good cheer by lighting 
two of the bayberry candles that I have brought 
from Plymouth this very evening ”—and Hannah 
took two of the fragrant candles from her precious 
store and put them in the pewter candlesticks on a 
shelf that Richard had made above the fireplace. 
She burned them only a few minutes each evening 
before going to bed. She called attention to the 
pretty green color of the candles, and their sweet 
odor as they burned. They are so much better 
than candles of tallow,” she urged; ^Hhey last 
longer and will not topple over and melt in the 
warm weather.” 

The evening before the feast day,” she told her 
mother and Richard about her plan to make bay- 
berry candles for the Boston colonists, the next 
autumn when the bayberries could be gathered. 

Elizabeth Howland has promised to send me a 
supply from Plymouth, if I cannot find enough 
about here. Perhaps we could all go to Plymouth 
some day and gather the bushes ourselves—and 
perhaps Richard could see some of Captain Stand- 
ish’s wonderful swords.” 


182 


FROM BOSTON 


She glanced at Richard who was standing, star¬ 
ing into the dying fire. He did not answer—prob¬ 
ably he had slight interest in what she, a girl, 
might suggest. He felt the responsibility of a 
householder, now that his father was dead, and 
there seemed so few ways in which he could earn 
money in Boston, or even in the outlying settle¬ 
ments of Roxbury and Watertown. The roads 
were clogged with mud and slush and there was 
no chance to haul timber or build new houses. 
What Hannah was saying about earning money ” 
was nonsense; of course, no girl could conduct any 
business.” 

Governor Winthrop had spoken kindly to Rich¬ 
ard, after he had heard of his father’s death, and 
said: “Your father sacrificed his life in the hope 
that he might help the colony, by bringing supplies 
of food from Plymouth. We will help you to care 
for your mother and sisters. In the spring I pur¬ 
pose to plant orchards and gardens at my farm on 
the Mistick River—perhaps I shall build there a 
sloop for the use of the settlers at Boston and vicin¬ 
ity—and you may find work there with us, if your 
mother is willing.” This hope alone seemed to 
cheer Richard through the long days of mid¬ 
winter. 

Mistress Garrett and Mistress Harwood, how- 


TO BOSTON 183 

ever, were more responsive to Hannah’s reports of 
what she did in Plymouth and what she hoped to 
do in Boston. She had brought home a few skeins 
of yarn and the women were knitting caps, like the 
one which Hannah had brought for Richard. She 
told them about the slashed-sleeve gown which the 
Governor’s wife, stately Alice Bradford, wore on 
“ great occasions,” and the pretty coat with silver 
lace which Mary Chilton Winslow was treasuring, 
perhaps for a visit to Boston. Her husband, John 
Winslow, is always buying and selling property 
around Plymouth; he thought he would move to 
Boston when that settlement grew larger, for he 
believed it had better chances for trade and growth 
than Plymouth had. He said he would like to 
become owner and master of merchant ships—and 
he will name one of them Mary/^ 

With more earnestness, Hannah and her mother 
talked about her plan for making bayberry candles, 
in place of those of tallow or wax. Candles cost 
four pence each in Salem and are scarce at that,” 
said Mistress Garrett. “ I am told by Mistress 
Dudley that Governor Winthrop has written to 
his wife to bring many candles, when she comes 
next autumn. If we could get wicks—or enough 
hemp or tow to make wicks—^we should be for¬ 
tunate.” 


FROM BOSTON 


184 

I remember that Mistress Anne Bradstreet 
said, when we were in Charlestown, that there 
was a plant, called milkweed, from which the chil¬ 
dren plucked ^ silk down,’ that could be spun into 
candle-wicks,” Hannah said. Perhaps I could 
make enough candles to sell in Salem, Dorchester, 
and New-Town, as well as in Boston, if I could get 
more candle-moulds and some of the older women 
to help us,” she ended with rising ambition. 

‘‘We will see, child! When this cold winter is 
overpast! It is a good idea—that of making can¬ 
dles of bayberry, for it is fragrant and enduring. 
Perhaps we could adapt that old adage of Thomas 
Tapper’s to ‘ bayberry ’ and say: 

“ * Wife, make thine own candle, 

Spare penny to handle 

Provide for thy tallow (or bayberry) ere frost cometh in. 

And make thine own candle ere winter begin.’ ” 


TO BOSTON 



CHAPTER X 

FEASTS, FASTS, AND EXCITEMENTS 

The tide of fortune had turned for the Boston 
colonists with the coming of the Lyon in early Feb¬ 
ruary and the breaking up of ice in the harbor, the 
middle of the month. In preparation for the Feast 
Day on February 22nd, the women showed new 
zest in cooking, now that they had good material; 
they spiced meats and salted eggs; they made 
dumplings and puddings, loaf, and seed-cakes. 

“ ’Tis the first time I have used the skillet to boil 
a pudding in, since my dear husband bade me bring 
it from old Boston for that purpose,” Mistress Gar¬ 
rett spoke in gentle tones to Mistress Harwood. 

He would have rejoiced at the turn of the tide 
for the settlement—and he would have bidden me 
be cheerful and brave.” 

The women and children wore their best ” for 
the service of thanksgiving, although the clothes 
looked worn and old beside those that Hannah had 
seen in Plymouth. She begged to wear her blue¬ 
bird locket, and so it was taken from the chest and 
fastened, with much care, on the slender, gold 


FROM BOSTON 


i86 

chain about her neck. Better hide that trinket, 
if any Indians come to the festival,” Richard 
warned, with a laugh. 

Across the lanes, still slippery or slushy, walked 
the people, old and young, to the meeting-house. 
The building had mud walls and an earthen floor, 
with a roof of thatch and grasses. It was cold and 
dark. Mistress Dudley, and the daughters of Sir 
Richard Saltonstall, Rosamond and Grace, 
brought their foot-stoves; other women found their 
feet often benumbed, in spite of heavy woolen 
hose. 

As they gathered, Richard “ sounded the drum ” 
with loud notes. John Wilson thought the noise 
was too lively and, touching the lad on the shoul¬ 
der, he said, Let the notes be more sedate, more 
like those of our psalms, for remember this is a 
day of prayer as well as thanksgiving.” Richard 
gave outward heed to the warning but his inward 
desire was to beat and whistle the familiar, rous¬ 
ing strains of an old marching song, with lively 
measures, which the schoolmaster had taught the 
boys in old Boston. He wondered if he would be 
permitted to use the drum, after the service was 
over and the people were marching, in a proces¬ 
sion, to the Governor’s house and that of William 
Coddington for the feast.” Probably some one 


TO BOSTON 187 

would think it was too lively for such a solemn 
occasion.’’ 

Mr. Phillips had come from Watertown, Mr. 
Maverick from Dorchester, and Mr. Skelton from 
Salem, to share with John Wilson in the thanks¬ 
giving service. Among the valued articles brought 
in the Lyon were a sun-dial and an hour-glass. 
The first was to be placed beside the spring near 
William Blackstone’s house; the other was already 
on the raised desk in the meeting-house. The chil¬ 
dren would have plenty of chances to-day to watch 
the sand flow down and back, when the glass was 
reversed—probably twice or more before the close 
of the service. 

With lusty voices, old and young joined in the 
hymn, for they could feel as well as sing: 

** All people that on earth do dwell 
Praise God with cheerful voice.” 


The famine was over and past; if days of plenty 
were not actually come, they could not be far away 
now, and all would be sure of a rich dinner after 
the service. It did end at last, after the four min¬ 
isters had prayed and preached, and Governor 
Winthrop had exhorted ” them all to greater 
faith and gratitude. “We shall long remember 
this day, February 22nd, as a day of rejoicing and 


FROM BOSTON 


I 


i88 

gladness. This should become a holiday—to be 
celebrated from year to year.” 

When they came out from the meeting-house, 
they found a group of Indian men and squaws 
gathered around them, waiting to join in the 
celebration. Sagamore John and Sagamore James 
had entered the meeting-house and listened in 
silence—and amazement—to what must seem to 
them a very dull ceremonial, compared with their 
religious festivals and dances. Sagamore James 
was dressed in the English suit of clothes that he 
had asked Governor Winthrop to procure for 
him. Yawata was with the women; Hannah was 
anxious to tell her, through some interpreter, how 
kind the squaws at Nauset had been to her and 
how beautiful Winniyata was! As she came to¬ 
wards the Indian woman, she smiled and beckoned. 
When Yawata approached, Hannah noticed that 
the squaw had fixed her eye upon the blue-bird 
locket. Oh! Was she to have more trouble with 
that precious keepsake? Should she hide it be¬ 
neath her kerchief? No, Yawata was not a thiev¬ 
ing Indian. Think how she had offered her moc¬ 
casins, in place of the shoe that the little dog had 
spoiled! It would be an insult to such a good 
friend to distrust her and hide the locket! Yawata 
came closer and touched the bright jewel with her 


TO BOSTON 


189 

finger. Then she said, ‘‘Pretty!” Next she 
touched Hannah’s rosy cheeks and said, with a 
musical laugh, “ Pretty! ” 

“Hannah! Hannah! Why, child, you are 
spoiling the order of the procession.” Mistress 
Garrett hastened, with Faith by her hand, to draw 
Hannah back into line. 

“ This is the squaw who guided us home. 
Mother,” she said, “ when we were lost and the 
little dog chewed my shoe.” 

Her mother paused to smile and offer her hand, 
with a kindly “Thank you!” to Yawata. Then 
she urged Hannah back into the procession that 
was already forming, by threes, to walk to the 
Governor’s house. 

“Later,” Hannah called to Yawata—perhaps 
the Indian understood, for she waved her hand in 
farewell and nodded her head. 

The Indian men straggled along after the colo¬ 
nists, hoping for some of the food, if any remained 
after the feast. Afterwards, they would gather 
and have their own celebration, with a game of 
chance. They hoped they might have a big camp¬ 
fire there, for the night was cold. A few days be¬ 
fore, through an interpreter. Sagamore John had 
been warned against possible fires near the settle¬ 
ment, lest in high winds sparks might set fire to 


190 


FROM BOSTON 


the thatched roofs of the meeting-house and log 
cabins. But to-day was a festival; perhaps they 
would be allowed to have a fire. Sagamore John 
promised that they would watch it carefully, and 
see that no embers remained aglow when they re¬ 
turned to their encampment. 

Hannah hid three of the seed-cakes—a part of 
her share—in her long pocket. She would give 
them to Yawata if that later” reunion became 
possible. She slipped two of her cheese-cakes into 
Richard’s trencher, for he needed all the rich food 
that he could eat. Anna Pollard was there, eager 
to hear from Hannah the latest news about Plym¬ 
outh. She whispered that Thomas Dudley was not 
pleased because Governor Winthrop had moved Ms 
frame house to Boston and had decided to settle 
there. The Dudleys would remain in New-Town 
and they thought the Governor should stay there— 
but the latter thought Boston the better place to 
live. He advised building a fort at New-Town, 
and some people were anxious to change its name 
to Cambridge. Richard did not look with wel¬ 
coming eyes at Anna Pollard—although she did 
look very pretty—for he remembered how often 
she had lured Hannah into truant ways. 

Yes, they were allowing the Indians to have their 
big bonfire at the foot of Trimontaine! The men 


TO BOSTON 


191 

had already brought fagots and larger pieces of 
wood and placed them under the bare trees. 
Would she be able to stay and see their games and 
talk with Yawata? Hannah queried. She asked 
her mother who consented, if Richard would stay 
with her for a little while. Faith must be taken 
home and put to bed after the long, exciting day, 
for she had begun to complain of that old enemy, 
ague in her ear. 

Richard, when appealed to, was not eager to 
have the oversight of Hannah but he was not un¬ 
willing to stay, for he felt a man’s responsibility 
about the possibility of fire in the settlement, as a 
result of the big blaze. The wind was rising and 
sparks might blow towards the meeting-house and 
its thatched roof. “Yes, I will ‘keep an eye on 
Hannah,’” he told his mother; “otherwise she 
might go off again with that ‘ romping girl ’ and 
give us another scare.” 

Yawata was standing outside the circle of Indian 
men, with the son of Sagamore John beside her. 
He was a friendly little boy and smiled when Han¬ 
nah came near them. He had brought a small bow 
and arrow and, laughingly, pointed his arrow at 
Hannah. Quickly, Yawata spoke to him sharply 
and shook her head, and he lowered the plaything, 
with a look of shame. “ He was only in fun, just 


192 


FROM BOSTON 


playing with it,” Hannah said, as she took her seed¬ 
cakes from her pocket and gave one to him and the 
others to Yawata. How was she going to make this 
squaw understand about the Nausets and Winni- 
yata? It was not so difficult as Hannah feared it 
might be. After all, people can communicate 
without the same language, if they have an idea in 
common and know how to make gestures. First 
she said to Yawata two words, pointing towards 
what she believed to be the direction of Cape Cod 
—the words, “Nauset” and “Winniyata.” At 
first, Yawata seemed stolid and inattentive, so Han¬ 
nah repeated the words more slowly, pointing first 
to herself, then towards Cape Cod. Suddenly, a 
new light came into the face of Yawata and she 
bowed her head several times and repeated the 
words, “ Nauset,” and “ Winniyata.” She did un¬ 
derstand that Hannah had been among the Nausets 
and had seen Winniyata. She must have known 
who the Indian maiden was, for she said her name 
with intelligent tone. 

What next? How should she tell about the kind¬ 
ness shown her? The Indians knew the word, 

good,” so she used that and pointed to herself, 
then away to the place where she believed the tribe 
lived, then she said “ good,” touching herself again. 
Yes, Yawata knew what she was trying to say, for 


TO BOSTON 


193 

she nodded and said, “Nausets good.” Hannah 
knew that Richard was laughing a little, with 
Stephen Winthrop and Samuel Dudley who had 
formed a group near her, at her efforts to talk with 
the squaw. Probably, he would tell her she was 
away off,” in her chosen direction for Cape Cod, 
but never mind! if Yawata understood. Another 
word that was familiar to Indian ears was Come.” 
In sign language, she conveyed her meaning that 
she hoped Winniyata would come to Boston some 
time—and Yawata answered, after a little period 
of silence, “ Winniyata—come ” and indicated that 
she should come to Boston ” where they were now 
watching the fire glow. Then she added, “ Saga¬ 
more John—^Winniyata.” Now what did that 
mean? That she should ask Sagamore John to 
have Winniyata come to Boston? Suddenly, light 
came to her memory to solve the problem of that 
relationship. She remembered that her father had 
said one of Sagamore John’s brothers had perished 
in the swamps with the Nauset sachem. Perhaps 
Winniyata was the niece of this good friend of the 
'Boston colonists and his sister. It was a happy 
thought that sometime Winniyata might come, 
so Hannah could show her some friendliness. 
She might teach the Boston women to make such 
moccasins, as the wife of Hobomok had shown the 


FROM BOSTON 


194 

Plymouth matrons, so they could send them to 
friends in England, as gift-souvenirs of New Eng¬ 
land. If Hannah could learn to make them, and 
could get some beads and quills, she might make 
more money to add to the shillings and pence from 
the sale of bayberry candles, which her vivid im¬ 
agination had already foretold for her and her 
mother. 

What was happening? The boys were all run¬ 
ning down towards the shore, even Richard who 
was forgetting “ to keep an eye on Hannah.” A 
dog was barking. There seemed to be wild com¬ 
motion among the few hens and rooster that had 
been brought in the Lyon and placed, within a 
yard with palings about it, in the rear of William 
Coddington’s house. Usually, at that hour in the 
early evening, not a sound came from these new 
visitors to the colony, but, at daybreak, the rooster 
would crow so lustily that Hannah was often 
wakened by his proclamation that daylight was 
coming. Why were they making such a noise now? 
Something must have frightened them. 

One person recognized the barking of the dog— 
namely, his little master, the son of Sagamore John. 
Off he ran, still grasping his bow and arrow, to¬ 
wards the sound of the disturbance and the cackling 


TO BOSTON 


I 9 S 

hens. Sagamore John rose from before the fire, 
where he had been watching the game of dice. 
With the slow stride of the Indian, and his inex¬ 
pressive face, he went to investigate what had 
caused the noise and the excitement of his son. He 
spoke to Yawata, as he passed her and Hannah. 

Back they came—the group of boys laughing 
and the Indian lad holding his dog in one arm 
and his bow and arrow under the other. Stephen 
Winthrop explained what had happened. Evi¬ 
dently, the small dog had been left at the encamp¬ 
ment and tied there—he still had a part of his 
leash on him. He had broken away, smelled ” 
his way to his master’s trail, and intended to be¬ 
come a quiet member of the party. But he found 
some unexpected neighbors in Boston,” said 
Stephen with a laugh, “ probably heard some noise 
from the hens’ roost, so he leaned over the palings 
and barked his surprise.” 

March was a month of some excitement for the 
younger colonists and anxiety for the older. March 
17th, two houses, well built and well furnished for 
that time, belonging to Mr. Sharp and Mr. Col¬ 
burn, were burned down and their goods lost. 
Again, the Governor and his Council urged the 
joiners to refuse to make wooden chimneys, or use 
thatched roofs—but material for shingles was 


FROM BOSTON 


196 

scarce, and it took a long time to build stone or 
brick chimneys. 

‘^’Tis a double sorrow that has come to Mr. 
Sharp,” said Mistress Garrett, when she was told 
of the fire and loss. Only two months ago he 
lost his daughter by death, after a long illness. 
Governor Winthrop, at a noble funeral service, 
said of her: ‘ She was a godly virgin—there has not 
been the like loss of any woman since we came 
here.’ ” 

“ He must have forgotten Lady Arbella,” Han¬ 
nah said, ever loyal to this noble lady of old 
Boston. 

No, he meant not since we left England but 
since we settled in Boston,” her mother explained, 

and it was a good tribute.” 

Sir Richard Saltonstall, who had come with his 
daughters in the Arbella, planned to return to Eng¬ 
land in the spring, probably on the ship which 
carried Edward Winslow and Humility Cooper. 
He would leave some of his family and his ser¬ 
vants behind. Before he sailed a serious charge 
was brought against one of the servants, James 
Woodward. He had burned two wigwams belong¬ 
ing to some of the tribe over which Sagamore John 
ruled. There was no provocation for the act, for 
the Sagamore and his Indians were gentle and 


TO BOSTON 


197 


friendly towards the settlers. The servant must be 
punished by whipping and sitting in the stocks, and 
Sir Richard was required to pay to Sagamore John, 
for satisfaction, seven yards of cloth.” 

That will be a satisfaction indeed to Sagamore 
John,” Thomas Dudley declared with a laugh, 
“ for like Sagamore James, he is anxious to wear 
English clothes.” 

“ That servant, James Woodward, is a menace to 
the community,” remarked Simon Bradstreet as the 
two men rode on horseback from Boston to Dor¬ 
chester, to consult on some matters with Samuel 
Maverick, the friendly and wise minister of Dor¬ 
chester. He had led the group from Dorchester 
and Plymouth in old England, those who came in 
the Mary and John, a short time before Winthrop’s 
fleet. 

“ It is difficult to make the people regard the 
rights of others,” said Dudley. Chickatabot and 
Sagamore John have pledged satisfaction for any 
injury that their Indians may do to our people or 
cattle. They seem more likely to keep their 
pledges than some of our own settlers, who allow 
their cattle and swine to invade the land belonging 
to their neighbors. They do not respect the 
laws.” 

“ We must not be too lenient with offenders. If 


FROM BOSTON 


198 

lawlessness becomes rife, it will infect the Indians 
as well as the ignorant colonists.’^ 

“ Right you are in that, Simon Bradstreet. You 
should say those words to Governor Winthrop, for 
he seems unduly lax at times. Do you recall the 
day when one of the men stole from his woodpile? 
He caught him, but invited him into his house, 
showed him where more wood was, and told him 
to take some if he needed it.” 

The Governor is ever gentle in judgment; he 
heard that the man’s wife was dying in the cold. 
He believed, also, that this might cure the man of 
his habit of stealing; he would apply what John 
Wilson so often reads to us from Holy Writ—‘ to 
overcome evil with good.’ ” 

That’s a dangerous doctrine, if carried too far 
in a lonely colony,” Dudley warned. “ Perhaps 
we shall have to find a Captain Miles Standish to 
deal with lawless prowlers.” 

‘‘ It was a sad day for this colony when Robert 
Weldon died last month. He would soon have been 
^ captain of one hundred foot ’ in Boston and near¬ 
by settlements. The Thursday training-days would 
have been a lesson to lawless whites or red men. 
We paid him due honor, as a soldier, when we fired 
a salute of three guns at his burial.” 

“ Who will be found for his successor? ” asked 


TO BOSTON 


199 


Dudley. “ If young Richard Garrett were older 
he would make a fine captain, for he is alert and 
faithful in whatever he may be asked to do. He 
is too young for heavy responsibility yet—although 
his father’s death threw such on him—but in a few 
years—mark you my words!—he will be one of 
the most valued men in this colony, to keep order 
and encourage industry.” 

Did you hear that? almost shouted Hannah, 
as the men started up their horses and rode down 
the path. They were wholly unconscious of the 
fact that three girls—Hannah, Faith, and Mercy 
Nowell—^were gathering pussy willows just off the 
highway, to carry home, as first assurances of “ real 
spring ” for their weary mothers. 

It seemed as if they never would get home, 
thought Hannah in her excitement, to repeat to 
Mother the splendid tribute she had heard Thomas 
Dudley pay to Richard. Faith could not hurry 
very fast; then she fell down on a loose stone, as 
they crossed the brook, and lost her pussy willows 
and soiled her cape with mud. “ Never mind the 
pussy willows—you may have some of mine to give 
Mother—and don’t try to brush off the mud now, 
you will only make it worse; let it dry and then 
we will brush it!” Hannah tried not to let her 
irritation show in her tones to her little sister. 


200 


FROM BOSTON 


Richard was not at home; he was at the Gover¬ 
nor’s farm on the Mistick these days, helping to 
get the cattle-pen finished and plans made for the 
gardens. “Yes, Richard is a noble boy,” said his 
mother when Hannah told her what Thomas Dud¬ 
ley had said. “ He has a good head and he uses 
it—and he is never idle. I am thankful that he is 
not reckless but rather slow in ventures ”—and 
Mistress Garrett thought lovingly, but sadly, of 
the husband who risked all in courageous ad¬ 
venturing. 

“ I would that Richard might have more learn¬ 
ing. Had we stayed in England he might have 
gone to Cambridge, for he was ever a good 
scholar.” 

“ Mistress Anne Bradstreet says we are to have 
schools and perhaps a college in New-Town within 
a short time, and Richard might go to this new 
Cambridge,” cheerfully suggested Hannah. 

“ No such chance, I fear, for the lad. He must 
earn money to keep us in shelter, fuel, and food.” 

“ Don’t look so sad. Mother. I’m sure I can 
help Richard, if not in moulding candles, then in 
some other way. Let’s sing ^ Old Hundredth ’ be¬ 
fore we go to bed and it will be brighter for us 
in the morning.” 

An exciting event, with a humorous sequel, took 



''Did you hear that?'’ almost shouted Hannah 

Page lyu. 




TO BOSTON 


201 


place in the last week of March. One of the fam¬ 
ilies at Watertown had lost a calf; it was a red calf 
and had wandered out from the enclosure. As 
wolves are especially savage in their attacks on 
red calves, there was alarm in the neighborhood. 
About ten o’clock some one heard a noise like the 
howling of wolves; the red calf must be in great 
danger. So one of the men discharged a musket to 
scare away the wolves. The report of the musket 
was heard in New-Town and was interpreted to 
mean that Indians were near. The people were 
aroused and more shots were fired. 

In Boston, on the other side of the river, these 
shots were heard and Richard was awakened to 
“ beat the drum ” and arouse the people. Sleep 
was over; an anxious watch was kept all night! 
Some of the men went up to the highest peak of 
Trimontaine to watch for the first signs of any 
Indian. They were to fire three shots as warning 
of danger. A group of older men went down to 
the dock, lest some Indians might approach in 
canoes. Just at dawn another horseman arrived 
from Roxbury; he brought word that the calf had 
returned, unharmed. “Now that the danger is 
past,” said Governor Winthrop, smiling at the un¬ 
expected anticlimax, “ we may all go merrily to 
breakfast.” 


202 


FROM BOSTON 


Somewhat later, in the same settlement at Water- 
town, a strange fight” gave John Wilson a text 
for his next sermon. The fight was between a 
mouse and a snake. Those who witnessed the com¬ 
bat said that, finally, the mouse won and the snake 
was killed. No one seemed to know just what 
weapons were used to win the victory. John Wil¬ 
son interpreted the unequal conflict thus: ‘^That 
the snake was the devil; the mouse was a poor, 
contemptible people, which God had brought 
thither and which should overcome Satan here and 
dispossess him of his kingdom.” As Hannah 
listened to this analogy, she wondered what “ con- 
temp-ti-ble ” meant, and “ dis-possess ” ? She was 
sure the people of Boston were not so “ poor ” as 
they had been, for now they had cows and hens. 
Mother said they could have a dinner, perhaps the 
next week, of roast goat. Mistress Harwood had 
been caring for two goats, but now she had decided 
to have the old goat killed, for it no longer gave any 
milk. As that day was the Sabbath, they would 
have only cold food; Hannah was hungry and cold 
in the bleak meeting-house; she would have liked 
warm broth of mutton or a dumpling,—but such 
thoughts were wicked; that was not the way “ to 
overcome Satan.” She was a greedy girl, she 
feared. She must study her Catechism all the 


TO BOSTON 


203 

afternoon, or some awful punishment ” might 
come upon her. 

In April, occurred an event of great interest to 
the Garrett household. A son was born to Henry 
Harwood and his young wife. He was baptized 
as John. Had the child been a girl, she would 
have been named Mercy,” said the young mother, 
“ both in memory of your kindness to me, Mistress 
Mercy Garrett, and the goodness of the Lord in 
saving the life of my husband on that terrible voy¬ 
age last December.” 

Henry Harwood was still disabled for heavy 
work but he was recovering slowly the use of his 
legs. Richard was helping, when he was at home, 
to build a log cabin for him and his family close 
to that of the Garretts’. The baby boy brought 
new interests into the life of Mistress Garrett. 
Soon Hannah and Faith learned to rock him to 
sleep in his rough, rush-lined cradle. There had 
been heavy expenses for Henry Harwood, in sur¬ 
gery and loss of time, after his exposure to the bit¬ 
ter cold on Cape Cod. Mistress Garrett was anx¬ 
ious to share with him any small sum that her 
husband had left. By vote of the Council, of Gov¬ 
ernor and assistants, on August i6th, 1631, it was 
ordered that the executors of Richard Garrett 
shall pay unto Henry Harwood the sum of 20 


204 


FROM BOSTON 


nobles, according to the proportion that the goods 
of the said Richard Garrett shall amount to.”" 

Spring was in the air and in the hearts of the 
Boston children, as warm days came to destroy 
memories of fierce winter winds and storms. Soon 
the fields were rich in color with dandelions, but¬ 
tercups and daisies, lilacs, and rock roses. Richard 
found busy days at Governor Winthrop’s farm, 
‘‘ Ten Hills.” Much planting of grains and vege¬ 
tables was going on; fences and outbuildings were 
being constructed. One day Richard was told that 
he might ride a horse to Salem on an errand for 
the builder, Thomas Graves. He was to place an 
order there with the foreman of the brick-kilns. 

“ Oh, how I wish I could go to ride on a horse 
and see Salem again,” Hannah was thinking out 
loud, without any expectation of such a wish 
coming true.” 

Well, you may go, if you will sit still and not 
fidget,” Richard said, and her delight was almost 
too great for belief. We will cross to New-Town 
in a skiff and find the horse there.” 

They took a lunch and brought home, in the 
same basket, some sprays of yellow flowers that 
called forth their mother’s surprised question, 

' A noble was an old gold coin valued at 6 shillings, 8 pence. 


TO BOSTON 


205 

Where did you find that English gorse, children? 
I have seen none of it about here.” 

It grows all about Salem,” answered Hannah. 

Desire Hewson gave this to me; she said it was 
used as packing for some of Governor Endicott’s 
goods when he came to Salem. Some seeds took 
root, when it was carelessly thrown away. Now 
the hillsides are like a mountain of gold where it 
has sprouted and blossomed.” 

“And poor luck it is for the husbandmen who 
must plough or hoe it up, lest it overspread their 
fields and spoil their harvests,” Richard said, with 
a bit of disdain in his voice. 

“ There will be a few less sprays for them to 
plough up now, Richard, and it has given a joyful 
surprise to Mother.” 

“Aye, it brings back memories of old England.” 

“ Here is another lovely flower. Mother,” said 
Hannah, wishing to rouse her from sad thoughts. 
“ I have only a few sprays of it, for it does not 
grow so abundantly in Salem ks it does in Plym¬ 
outh, but this will give you a whiff of its fra¬ 
grance. John Alden calls these pink blossoms 
‘ Mayflowers.’ ” 

The climax to “ excitements ” this spring was the 
opening, in June, of the first ferry that crossed 


2 o6 


FROM BOSTON 


from Boston to Charlestown. This was set up ” 
by Edward Converse. It was to transport people 
and goods across “ Muddy River.’^ 

^^As soon as I make some money selling candles, 
I shall be able to ride, and take you, Faith,” Han¬ 
nah said, as she wistfully saw Richard embark on 
a mission for Thomas Graves. “ It costs now two 
pence for each single person but only one penny 
if two or more ride, so we will all go—and take 
Mother with us.” 

“ If we can’t go to ride in the ferry, we can walk 
on our feet,” said Hannah with plucky spirit. 

Mother will let us take a lunch and we will bring 
her back some wild roses, for they are in their 
prime just now.” 

“ Who will go with us? ” Faith inquired. 

While she was pondering that very question— 
for Stephen Winthrop and Patience Dudley had 
gone on the ferry, and Anna Pollard was at New- 
Town—who should come down the highway but 
Mistress Anne Bradstreet and her faithful serving- 
maid, Patience. She waved to Hannah and then 
beckoned; when Hannah and Faith came running 
forward, she asked: 

Would you like to go with us to gather wild 
strawberries? We are going to find a place where 
my brother, Samuel, found them in large quanti- 


TO BOSTON 


207 

ties yesterday. Run and tell your mother, then,” 
she said, as she saw their eagerness to go. “ I have 
lunch enough for us all.” 

What a joyful walk that was! Hannah listened 
to stories from Plutarch^s Lives, as told by Mistress 
Bradstreet, and was stirred to pride and amaze¬ 
ment when she quoted to her some of her “ lines ” 
about “ The Four Seasons.” Then Hannah took 
courage and told this friend about her hope to 
make bayberry candles, and there was immediate 
response and promise to help. They had gathered 
several bunches of the wild strawberries, and some 
wild roses, and were about to start for home when 
Hannah saw, on a high rock, a large cluster of deep 
pink roses with beautiful leaves. The others sat 
down to wait for her—for the sun was getting 
warm—and she climbed over the vines and tangles 
up to the rock, with surprising alertness, consider¬ 
ing her long skirts. 

She had her hands on the bunch of roses when 
she heard a strange noise at her feet, tangled as 
they were in the vines. Then she saw a long 
snake, lifting its head to spring and waving its 
tail as if in anger. Patience heard the noise and 
sensed the child’s danger. There was not a moment 
to lose. As she ran up the briary trail to the rock, 
Patience picked up a big stone in one hand and 


208 


FROM BOSTON 


tore off a branch of a big bush, scratching her hand 
badly but never stopping. 

Stand still, Hannah! ” she called. Or rather, 
step back a few paces, if you can loosen your feet 
without getting closer to that deadly rattlesnake. 
I will try to throw this stone, so it will hit him a 
fatal blow.” 

The venomous reptile rattled and hissed when 
Hannah moved but, before he could attack her, 
the stone crashed down, thrown by the strong arm 
and sure aim of Patience. The snake was stunned, 
if not killed. Patience grasped Hannah by the 
hand and almost carried her down the tangled 
path. Patience and Hannah both felt “ quivery,” 
when they tried to walk fast, back to the settlement. 
“ It was a narrow escape, and you have shown your 
usual courage and strength. Patience,” her mistress 
commended her. 

Then Anne Bradstreet told them the Indian 
legend about the rattlesnakes — and Hannah 
thought the legend was prettier to listen to than 
the snake was to see and hear: Rattlesnakes were 
saucy Indians. They feared nothing. Glooskap, 
the god of good, told them that a great flood would 
drown them, but they did not care. They danced 
and hurrahed. Glooskap said, ‘The Flood will 
come down and drown you all,’ but they would not 


TO BOSTON 


209 


listen; they danced and got their rattles, made of 
turtle-shells, that were fastened and filled with 
pebbles. With these they danced until the Flood 
came. It did not drown them but changed them 
into rattlesnakes. When they see a man coming, 
they lift their heads and turn about and shake their 
rattles in their tails, as the Indians used to shake 
their rattles in their dances.” 

Anne Bradstreet went home with Hannah and 
Faith and told their mother about the escape. 

Your little daughter was very brave, as was my 
Patience. We have reason to say our psalms of 
thankfulness with deep fervor this night.” 

Yes, Hannah would say her prayers all through 
without falling asleep! She was frightened when 
she saw that ugly snake, and she loved Patience 
more than ever before—and she had had an 
adventure ” without going on the ferry across 
Muddy River. 


210 


FROM BOSTON 


CHAPTER XI 

“ THE BLESSING OF THE BAY ” 

“What do you think is going to happen to¬ 
morrow? ’’ Richard asked one evening, as he came 
home, unexpectedly, and spoke with more anima¬ 
tion in his voice than his mother had heard for 
many a month. 

H is mother hurried to warm up a piece of meat 
on the spit in the fireplace, for she was sure he 
must be hungry, coming such a long way from 
Ten Hills. The girls threw their knitting on 
the settle and waited anxiously, as he repeated his 
question, What do you think is going to happen 
to-morrow? ” 

“ Probably it is to be an Indian scalping-party, 
if you are so excited about it, Richard,’^ Hannah 
said and laughed. 

“ Don’t be silly! ” was the retort. “ It is a really 
great event for the colony. Governor Winthrop’s 
new launch is finished and will be towed down 
Mistick River into Boston harbor. Now guess 
what he has given it for a name? ” 

“ The Boston was the first guess—but “wrong,” 


TO BOSTON 


2II 


said Richard. Lady Arbella was a second, but 
that, too, was wrong.’’ Mother suggested that it 
might be Margaret, in honor of his wife,” so 
soon to arrive in the colony. “ No,” said Richard, 
“ you have had three guesses and you would never 
guess it. Now listen; it has a poetic name— The 
Blessing of the Bay/ Now, we shall have a 
barque in which we may trade with the colonies at 
Salem and Plymouth, or carry supplies from the 
larger boats to our scattered settlements.” 

“Now, I can have a ride in something even 
better than the Charlestown ferry. Anna Pollard 
was always boasting that she had been twice on 
this ferry. Do you think I could ride in the new 
shallop, Richard, without paying two pence—for 
I have not any money of my own—yet.” 

“ Perhaps you may have a ride with me—and so 
may Mother and Faith, for I am already learning 
to pilot the barque. To-morrow, July 4th, when 
it comes down Mistick River, will be a great day 
for Boston. It will be remembered as another 
holiday, like that of February 22nd, when the 
Lyon^s coming was celebrated.” 

“Will you beat the drum and will the people 
march down to the dock to see the new boat? and, 
please, may I go. Mother? ” asked Faith. 

“ Didn’t I tell you I was learning to pilot the 


212 


FROM BOSTON 


boat? ’’ repeated Richard. How can I be on the 
barque and beating the drum at the same time? ” 

May we have some popped corn to-night, to 
celebrate Richard’s new honor as pilot, and the 
launching of The Blessing of the Bay? Hannah 
asked her mother, and Faith echoed, Please.” 

Very well, children, but you will have to go 
without corn in your succotash to-morrow, if you 
use it to-night, for the supply is not large until the 
harvest.” 

Wouldn’t it be splendid if we could go to 
Plymouth—all of us—in The Blessing of the Bay 
and see Dr. Fuller and other friends there? ” 

“ Not very likely, gadfly. This barque is the 
property of Governor Winthrop, not of you or 
me.” 

I should love to go and see Winniyata and 
bring her to Boston to see Yawata,” Hannah con¬ 
tinued her day-dreaming. 

“You would have to explain such a madcap 
plan to Governor Winthrop—and without success, 
I fear.” 

“ I may tell him some day how kind they were 
to us and that this Indian maiden is the niece of 
Sagamore John,” Hannah declared. “ If we can’t 
go in this new shallop, we may go in some larger 
one.” 


TO BOSTON 


213 

It would not be seemly nor maidenly for you 
to trouble the Governor with such trifling matters, 
Hannah, when he has so many weightier affairs to 
ponder. But if you do speak to him, don’t forget 
your courtseys, as you and Faith did, when Thomas 
Dudley spoke to you yesterday after meeting. We 
must keep our manners in this new country, even 
if our clothes become shabby. But the meat is hot 
for Richard; get him some brew of strawberry 
leaves and sassafras, that I made yesterday, in the 
small flagon, and bring the measure of corn for 
roasting—or popping—as you call it.” 

Summer days brought many tasks; the peas and 
beans must be shelled and dried for winter’s use. 
Herbs and berries were gathered for brews and 
medicines. Rushes were stored to braid into mats 
and other uses during the winter. How they did 
love the summer days and dread those of the long, 
cold winter! More substantial houses were being 
erected and Richard was often consulted regarding 
plans and construction. “My right-hand man!” 
Thomas Graves told Mistress Garrett one day, in 
speaking of the lad. “ He is always reliable and 
has good ideas.” 

Ships came in with more linen and flax for 
weaving and spinning; cranberries would ripen 


214 


FROM BOSTON 


soon—if only the frost did not come early and 
spoil them, or a late hail-storm make havoc with 
the berries. Apples, plums, and grapes would 
come in due season from the orchards, already 
being trimmed and cared for in Watertown, Dor¬ 
chester and Roxbury. These would provide tarts 
and jellies for the winter relishes. 

Hannah was always on the outlook for bayberry; 
she found some near New-Town, and Anna Pollard 
promised to help her gather the waxy berries, as 
soon as they were fully developed. It required a 
sharp knife to cut the stems of the boughs, for they 
were strong. One day she had borrowed one of 
Richard’s two knives for this purpose, with a word 
of caution on his part that she should not cut her 
finger, for the knife had just been sharpened on 
the grindstone at Ten Hills. She guarded both 
her fingers and the knife until the work was done; 
they had gathered as many branches of the grey 
bayberry as their hands could hold. Half-way 
home she saw a few more bushes and she thought 
she would cut them and hide them behind higher 
bushes; then the next day she and Faith could 
borrow Richard’s cart and bring them home. 
Where was the knife? She knew she had put it in 
her pocket when they started back with the armful 
that had been cut near New-Town—but it wasn’t 


TO BOSTON 


215 

there. She turned her pocket wrong side out—but 
no knife, only a hole of good size in the bottom 
of that long pocket. Then she remembered that 
her mother had told her to mend that pocket and 
another rent in this old, homespun gown the week 
before, but she had forgotten. 

Richard would want that knife—if she lost it, 
he would never lend her anything more that he 
treasured. The girls hid their bayberry branches 
and walked slowly back over the path which they 
had taken, looking everywhere for the knife. Sud¬ 
denly, they heard voices in front of them, (as it 
sounded) and from the bushes came out two In¬ 
dians, talking excitedly. They did not see the 
girls but continued on the path in advance of them. 
One of them seemed to be handling an object in 
his right hand, which he showed to his companion. 

‘^They have found your knife! said Anna 
Pollard in a whisper. See! they are both looking 
at it; I can tell it is yours by one broken blade 
which the Indian'is showing to his comrade and 
shaking his head.” 

“ Do you suppose they would give it to me, if 
we should ask them and promise to give them 
something in exchange? ” Hannah asked. 

What have we to give them in barter that they 
would care for, as they do for the knife? ” Anna 


2i6 


FROM BOSTON 


protested. “ No, we had better leave the knife 
with them and hurry home, for they might see us, 
and one of those Indians is wily and treacherous. 
Samuel Dudley told his father that he was a dan¬ 
gerous member of the Terrentines, who had wan¬ 
dered into the camp of Sagamore John and might 
make trouble for the friendly Indians, as well as 
the whites. I remember him, for he is very tall 
and he has the same beasts painted on his arms as 
that one had who was holding your knife.” 

Another adventure for Hannah, she thought, 
with an ending that was almost tragic—for ;she 
knew that Richard would resent the loss of his 
knife, and she had no money with which to buy 
him another. She would promise him the very 
first shillings that she got for her bayberry candles 
—but he would think she was even more reckless 
if she should try to get it back from the Indians 
and, perhaps, “ be taken into captivity,” as he had 
so often warned her. 

True to their word, the Plymouth friends re¬ 
membered Hannah with an abundance of bay- 
berry. In late September, Dr. Fuller visited 
Boston, partly to see how it fared with Henry 
Harwood and another patient whom he had 
treated the winter before. He brought a large 


TO BOSTON 


217 


basket of the waxy, fragrant bayberries, with the 
Icve of his goodwife, and Elizabeth Howland. 
He brought her a book from Mistress Bradford— 
her nephew, Nathaniel Morton had brought it to 
Dr. Fuller and asked him to deliver it to Hannah. 
It was a neat copy-book,” with some letters of 
the alphabet and two Bible texts. Inside were 
two sprays of pressed Mayflowers, still fragrant. 
She was excited by the gift and wanted to write 
a word of thanks—but she had not practised her 
writing, during the busy summer months, and she 
was afraid she would make a sorry-looking blot. 
When she showed her mother the book and the 
pressed flowers, she told her about Nathaniel’s 
kindness to her in Plymouth and his loss of his 
father. She added, He is a very handsome boy.” 
Her mother smiled a little, as she realized that her 
little girl was growing up. 

To boil the bayberries until the first dark-green 
color was changed into a lighter shade was not an 
easy task; to set the wicks and dip the candles in 
the waxy fluid was even more difficult. But her 
mother had made candles of tallow and wax in 
the old days in England, so she was able to super¬ 
vise the boiling, the dipping, and the moulding. 
Richard made more wooden moulds. By the first 
of October they had a goodly supply of these can- 


2i8 


FROM BOSTON 


dies that were a novelty in the Boston colony. 
Thomas Dudley bought a dozen, paying three 
pence each—^which Hannah feared was too ex¬ 
pensive—and Simon Bradstreet had ordered an¬ 
other dozen, through Patience, who called often 
to see Mistress Garrett and talk about “ old times ” 
in old Boston. She reported that her mistress, Anne 
Bradstreet, was not so well since the last baby came 
but that she was writing “ beautiful, religious 
poems.” The color and fragrance of the bay- 
berry candles would appeal especially to her poetic 
mistress, said Patience. Hannah sent her a bunch 
of sweet fern and some late purple asters, which 
she had found in a shaded meadow path, the day 
before. 

One day, Stephen Winthrop came to the Garrett 
home to say that he wished to buy a dozen of the 
candles, to have in their home when his mother 
should arrive soon from England. Hannah re¬ 
fused to take any money for these. They were to 
be her gift to the Governor’s Lady.” She se¬ 
lected the very best from her diminished stock and 
went with Stephen to see them placed in the brass 
candlesticks. Then she went again and took some 
shiny laurel leaves and red berries that were open¬ 
ing with yellow centers—some one called them 
bitter-sweet ”—and placed these in a pewter bowl 


TO BOSTON 


219 


on the mantel-shelf, between the bayberry candles. 

They will keep all winter without any water,’’ 
she told the Governor’s maid-servant. 

November nth, 1631, was another “ red-letter 

day ” for Boston. Margaret Winthrop arrived on 

* 

the Lyon, with the Governor’s elder son, John. 
Little Ann, three years old, had died on ship¬ 
board soon after they left England—another 
sadness for the Governor to mix with his “ cup 
of rejoicing.” The passage had been stormy 
and the Lyon did not make port the evening that 
it came into view in Boston harbor, so Governor 
Winthrop was taken out in The Blessing of the Bay 
to greet his family and spend the night aboard the 
big ship. With Margaret Winthrop came John 
Eliot, the minister, whose mission was to educate 
the Indians in Christian religion. Many supplies 
for the colonists came in this ship. At last, there 
would be glass enough for other houses besides 
those of the Governor and his Council. One win¬ 
dow in the Garrett house was to exchange its oiled 
paper for glass. Here were cables and pitch for 
building, sheep and goats and cows, vegetables 
from English gardens, including chard, onions and 
cabbage, and a conserve of red roses, alum, and 
aloes ” for perfume and use on the “ complexions.” 
Oiled skins for wet weather, with “ worsted rib- 


220 


FROM BOSTON 


bing,” would add to their comfort. There was a 
supply of oil for lamps—“ a rival for your candles, 
Hannah ”—Richard teased her, as he helped to 
unload the casks. 

Not alone Boston, and its immediate neighbors 
in Dorchester, Charlestown, and Watertown, took 
part in the celebration, which installed Mis¬ 
tress Winthrop in the Governor’s house, but guests . 
came from Salem and Ipswich, and from Plym¬ 
outh as well. Mistress Endicott looked like a 
true bride in her silken gown and lace mitts. Gov¬ 
ernor Bradford and Governor Endicott and their 
deputies brought venison and poultry, and rich 
measures of grain and vegetables. Mistress Win¬ 
throp was at a loss to find cooks for so many 
kinds of meat and fowl. She had brought with 
her two loyal maids—one, named Ann, was a 
veteran in service—but in the new settlement 
there would not be room or food for the nine ser¬ 
vants that had cared for the family in the old home 
in Suffolk. Mistress Dudley was consulted, and 
advised calling in Mistress Garrett. She was an 
expert sempstress and spinner in the home of the 
Countess of Lincoln,” she said, and she knows 
well how to order a household and to cook, both 
plain fare and delicacies. Her son, Richard, is 
well favored by the Governor and my husband,” 


TO BOSTON 


221 


she added, a handy, quick-witted lad, and her 
daughter, Hannah, moulded those bayberry can¬ 
dles that you see on your mantel.” 

“ I had already admired those green candles, 
and I wondered where they came from. We use 
a berry, similar to what I am told this is, called 
bayberry, in England, but only for salves. Where 
did she learn to make these candles? How old is 
the girl? ” asked Mistress Winthrop. 

Her caller told her briefly about the tragic 
adventure of Hannah and her father, nearly a year 
before, and the kindness of the Nauset Indians, as 
well as the Plymouth families to Hannah and 
Henry Harwood. It was while she was in 
Plymouth that she learned to make the candles— 
for the bayberry grows plentifully there and the 
women have learned its varied uses. She may be 
more forward than most girls of her age, about 
thirteen, but she has had unusual responsibilities 
thrust upon her. She is inclined to speak more 
freely than our English maidens, when their elders 
are about. However, her mother restrains her and 
keeps her well-trained in her Catechism and 
Psalms.” 

“ I must send for this mother and daughter this 
very day. I know they will be of help to me and, 
perhaps, I may be of some service to them.” 


222 


FROM BOSTON 


It was a blessed solution of the loneliness of 
Mistress Garrett to have friendly comradeship 
with the women in the Governor’s household, from 
mistress to the faithful Ann. She had needed both 
work and sympathy. Her brother, who had ar¬ 
rived from England and joined the Charlestown 
colony, gave her occasional supplies but it was not 
until his death, four years later, that she and her 
children received a legacy of twenty pounds. Mis¬ 
tress Harwood would look after Faith in the day¬ 
time, for the little girl was devoted to the baby, 
John. Hannah had not fulfilled the prophecy of 
John Howland and hung out a sign, Candle- 
Moulder to the Queen,” but she kept the pewter 
candlesticks filled with her bayberry products. 
She was allowed to sort out the fine linen sheets and 
pillow-beeres,” and even help to polish the 
“ great silver tankard” and ^‘Adam Winthrop pot,” 
when the Governor’s Lady entertained royally. 

Sagamore John came with gifts of skins for 
Mistress Winthrop, and Yawata brought two 
braided mats. The presence of Yawata encour¬ 
aged Hannah to speak to Mistress Winthrop about 
her interest in the Indian maiden among the Nau- 
sets, Winniyata. The Governor’s Lady was re¬ 
sponsive to the story which the girl told. She 
promised to speak to the Governor about this 


TO BOSTON 


223 


matter, when opportunity should come. I do not 
know about transferring Indian squaws from one 
tribe to another,” she said, “but Sagamore John 
would know, and one of the Indian youths who is 
living with John Eliot, to teach the minister some 
Indian words, could interpret for us both. Mis¬ 
tress Endicott told me, when she came for our 
celebration, that Indian women made excellent 
cooks and nurses for little children. Perhaps 
Winniyata could find service in my household.” 

The next Sabbath several of the Indians came 
to the colony and were invited to the meeting-house 
where John Eliot was to preach and share the 
service with John Wilson. With some laughter 
and “ Ughs! ” they joined the procession which fol¬ 
lowed Richard Garrett, still the drummer, across 
the training-green to the mud-walled meeting¬ 
house. Behind the Governor and his Lady walked 
Deputy Thomas Dudley and his wife; their son, 
Samuel, who had married Mary Winthrop, was 
also in the line. 

The Indians were seated in the rear of the 
meeting-house, Sagamore John and Sagamore 
James and their sannups sitting on the front 
benches, in the space allotted to them. Two squaws 
sat on the opposite side, with the boys and girls of 
the Boston families. They were all very quiet and 


224 


FROM BOSTON 


attentive until John Wilson’s long prayer. Dur¬ 
ing that, some of the Indian men, on the back row 
of benches, stole out softly and foraged for food. 
They found what they liked in the houses, taking 
a meat-pie, a roasted wild turkey, and some seed¬ 
cakes. The thieves lingered on the outskirts of 
the settlement. Sagamore John expressed much 
regret at what had occurred and offered to bring 
meal and beans as restitution to the families where 
the food had been stolen. He and Sagamore 
James were, doubtless, innocent—yet powerless to 
find and punish the thieves, for they did not belong 
to their tribe. Hannah was sure that one of the 
Indians, who had gone into the meeting-house with 
the last group—and thus had gone out and stolen 
the food—^was the same one who had gloated over 
finding Richard’s knife, a few weeks before. 

John Eliot spoke to each Indian, using his own 
language but giving each a hearty hand-shake and 
smile, so that every one knew that this new min¬ 
ister was interested in these friends of the white 
men. Through the interpreter, (an Indian whose 
father had been carried to England, served under 
Sir Walter Raleigh and had taught his children 
many English words on his return) John Eliot 
tried to tell the red men about the God of the 
Christian, and to thank them for their kindness to 


TO BOSTON 


225 


the Boston settlers. He told them that, as soon 
as he learned some Indian words, he wanted to 
teach them to read and write English. 

Nightfall was near; people walking from the 
meeting-house to their homes reported to the Gov¬ 
ernor that several of the surly-looking Indians 
were still prowling about the settlement. By order 
of the deputy, and with the consent of Sagamore 
James, orders were given to Samuel Dudley and 
Richard Garrett to take their loaded muskets (and 
a few more men) and chase these marauders down 
to the harbor, where they had left their canoes. 
The action was prompt and effective. In a few 
minutes, after the discharge of two muskets into 
the air, as signals of their readiness to fire upon 
any enemies, the Indians were seen running down 
the hill and embarking in their canoes. 

“ I like not these prowling Indians and the 
tendency to lawlessness among some of the white 
servants of Sir Richard Saltonstall and Matthew 
Craddock,” Governor Winthrop said to William 
Pynchon. “ It might be well to use our shallop. 
The Blessing of the Bay, to bring a larger supply 
of firearms from Salem and Braintree, if they can 
spare us some from their supply. I will speak to 
Richard Garrett about this to-morrow, for he has 
become an expert pilot of our little barque.” 


226 


FROM BOSTON 


CHAPTER XII 

MAKING PLANS FOR WINNIYATA 

Margaret Winthrop did not forget her 
promise to Hannah that she would speak to the 
Governor about Sagamore John’s niece, and the 
possibility of her coming to Boston, but the plan 
was long delayed. Once when John Eliot was 
calling at the Governor’s house. Sagamore John 
came with a gift of a stone water-jar for Mistress 
Winthrop. This reminded her of Hannah’s hopes 
and she told the minister, in the presence of the 
sachem, about Winniyata. The Sagamore listened, 
with grave face and some slight grasp of her mean¬ 
ing, then he said, in low tones, “Winniyata, Mat- 
tapshyoteg,” and pointed towards the fire on the 
hearth. 

“What does he mean by that? Have you any 
idea? ” Margaret Winthrop asked John Eliot. 

“Yes,” he slowly answered, as Sagamore John 
repeated the phrase and gesture. “ He means ‘ Sit 
by the fire ’—I recall that is among the few Indian 
ph rases that I have often heard.” 

“ Then he would say, ^ Winniyata will sit by his 


TO BOSTON 


227 

fire,’ or come to his camp? ” Sagamore John un¬ 
derstood and nodded his head slowly, then repeated 
the words and signs. 

Later, Hannah was told of this conversation and 
Mistress Winthrop promised, that as soon as spring 
should come, the Governor would see if the plan 
could be worked out and Winniyata brought to 
Boston. I am told that Indian women can sing 
musical lullabies,” Margaret Winthrop said, with 
a wistful look at the empty cradle, beside the 
spinning-wheel. 

“ I can vouch for that,” was Hannah’s quick 
reply. Winniyata has a beautiful voice; she 
sang me to sleep, with a lovely song, the night I 
was in camp and so worried about my father. I 
didn’t know the meaning of the words but the 
sound was musical. If Winniyata could come to 
Boston, it would be the happiest day of my life,” 
she added, with an impulse of hope and affection. 

The winter of 1631-32 was severe, cold, and 
windy, with weekly snow-storms. The children 
found delight in coasting on improvised sleds, and 
using two pairs of snowshoes that the Indians had 
brought into the settlement. They had bartered 
these for dried apples and pumpkins, with two 
hatchets thrown in for good measure.” Richard 
and Stephen Winthrop were expert on these snow- 


228 


FROM BOSTON 


shoes, on moonlit evenings. Once Richard yielded 
to Hannah’s pleadings and took her out for a 
try.” Once was enough, both for her and for 
Richard. She sprained her ankle and tore her 
skirt when she had a bad fall. Proof that this 
is a sport for boys —not for girls,” said Richard. 

During the intervals of thaw, more wood was 
cut for the fireplaces; the houses were more win¬ 
ter-proof than in the previous year yet they were 
not perfect shelters against the cold New England 
storms. There was plenty of food, although not 
much variety. The children were seldom hungry, 
and they kept fairly warm by exercise and knitted 
hoods and mufflers. They built snow-houses and 
once a large snow-man stood for several days, 
gazing with stone eyes upward towards Trimon- 
taine. One day, there was an icy crust which 
shone like glass. Some of the boys and girls were 
enticed to bring out rush mats and pewter platters 
from the log houses for sleds. Much to the dis¬ 
gust of their mothers, the articles were returned 
with dents and broken rushes. Hannah was among 
the “ culprits her mother was at the Governor’s 
house that day, directing the quilting of a new 
comforter,” so she had ventured to take the 
household treasures without permission. Her 
punishment had been to stay indoors all the next 


TO BOSTON 


229 


day—one of glorious sunshine—and keep a fast,” 
studying her Catechism and learning two psalms. 

There were a few fires for passing excitement. 
One man was carrying some coals from his fire¬ 
place to that of a sick neighbor. In some way the 
coal slipped from the shovel and set fire to dry 
rushes. In a few minutes, the neighbor’s house 
was consumed by the flarnes. Mr. Maverick of 
Dorchester had a peculiar accident. He was dry¬ 
ing a little powder in a firepan; it became inflamed 
in some way, and caused a small keg of powder to 
explode, singeing the minister’s clothes and spoil¬ 
ing the thatch of the new meeting-house. 

Hannah found a new interest in a chipmunk that 
became very friendly with her. She first saw him 
one day, looking scared yet trying to find some 
kernel of corn or nut that he had hidden under the 
snow, in the garden beside the Garrett home. He 
looked very thin. Hannah watched him a few 
minutes, without making a sound, from the window 
of the cabin. Poor little thing! The snow was 
packed down into a solid mass and he could not 
make any impression on it. She would help him 
by taking the fire-shovel and cutting away some 
of the ice. The moment that she opened the door 
—although she did so very carefully—the little fel¬ 
low scampered away in alarm. 


230 


FROM BOSTON 


Hannah was wise enough to know that he would 
probably come back another day for his hidden 
nuts, so she kept at her task until she had broken 
up much of the frozen snow. Then she dropped 
two nuts in the hole she had made. The very next 
day, as she was polishing the pewter bowls by the 
window. Master Chipmunk returned, looking very 
cautiously all about lest he might be seen and 
caught. With a quick motion, he picked up the 
larger nut in his mouth and hurried away to the 
woods, behind the settlement. Now Hannah went 
out to the hole she had made and placed another 
nut there, with the smaller one that the little fel¬ 
low had left behind. Hardly had she shut the 
door to the house, before he was back again for 
the other nut. Hannah was wondering if he would 
notice that there were still two nuts there, although 
he had taken one away. It was evident that the 
chipmunk was puzzled at first; he looked into the 
hole, then he put his head on one side and looked 
and listened, as if inquiring how this miracle had 
happened. However, he was ready to accept the 
miracle without any discussion, so he managed to 
get the two nuts in his mouth, and scampered away 
with rapid leaps. For weeks this little friend 
came to Hannah’s frozen garden for his supplies, 
and she was warned that she must be frugal and 


TO BOSTON 


231 

give him only a nut a day. Soon he became so 
tame that he would come when she called him, as 
she sat on the door-stone, and eat from her hand. 
One day he hopped on her shoulder and sprang 
from there to the branches of the pine-tree beside 
the door, making a funny sound which Hannah 
declared was just like a laugh/^ 

Late in January Richard and Hannah went with 
Governor Winthrop and a small company up the 
Charles River, eight miles above Watertown, 
where they gave names to some brooks and rocks. 
Beaver Brook was where the beavers had made 
their homes; a high rock was named Adam Rock, 
in honor of young Adam Winthrop, and another 
rock was called Mount Feake, for Robert Feake 
who had married the widow of Henry Winthrop, 
drowned in Salem harbor. 

^^At last we are going to have a real fort!” 
Richard made the announcement with pride and 
exultation, one day in the early spring. 

“ Where will it be built? ” his mother asked. 

“ On one of the peaks of Trimontaine; men will 
come from Charlestown, Roxbury and Dorchester 
to help the men of Boston to build this fortifica¬ 
tion which will be great protection to all the set¬ 
tlements near us. The Governor said he might 


232 


FROM BOSTON 


go to Plymouth, as soon as the weather is more 
settled, to consult with Captain Miles Standish 
about the plans.’’ 

“ Oh, Richard! Perhaps you can go with him? ” 
exclaimed Hannah. “ Then you would have a 
chance to really know your hero. Captain Stand¬ 
ish.” 

More likely I shall have to stay here and take 
my turn at watching.” 

“ Is there some new danger that threatens the 
colony? ” his mother spoke in a low tone. 

With similar efforts to keep the words from the 
ears of little Faith (who was easily frightened and 
not well this winter) Richard explained: “Wil¬ 
liam Pynchon told Thomas Dudley that some 
of the Terrentine Indians were prowling about 
again, as they did last autumn. They were seen 
trying to talk to James Woodward.” 

“ Isn’t he the servant of Sir Richard Saltonstall, 
who has been whipped for disobedience? ” his 
mother inquired. 

“Yes, he has been whipped soundly twice, but 
he seems defiant and willing to plot with any In¬ 
dian enemy or other traitor to the white settlers. 

“Word has come from Salem,” Richard con¬ 
tinued, “ that some of the Terrentines had attacked 
friendly Indians there, coming in thirty canoes and 


TO BOSTON 233 

carrying off, into captivity, one of the wives of the 
tribe.’^ 

“ Is that the Indian camp of Masconomo who 
came to greet us on the Arbella? 

Yes, he is the sachem of the Cape Ann Indians 
and a friend to the white settlers along the Kenne- 
beck, at Agawam and at Salem. At least, he and 
his sannups always seem friendly but one never 
can tell just what a red man may do, if he is de¬ 
ceived into thinking that the English are unjust to 
him,” said Richard, with that lingering distrust of 
the Indian nature that he found so difficult to dis¬ 
lodge from his mind. 

Hannah did not sleep soundly that night. She 
wished all Indians would be as kindly as the Nau- 
sets had been to her, or as friendly as were Saga¬ 
more John and Yawata. She would feel safer if 
Richard stayed at home, should there be any dan¬ 
ger of being carried off into captivity.” What 
fearful words those were! She hoped the Indians 
would be kind to that squaw from Agawam. 

Slowly but surely the plans were developed for 
the trip to Plymouth. They would get advice 
from Captain Miles Standish. At the same time, 
they would make efforts to bring to Boston two 
or three English-speaking Indians to help John 


234 


FROM BOSTON 


Eliot, and the maiden, Winniyata, if the Nausets 
were agreed. Henry Harwood told John Eliot 
about Weetamo, the Nauset Indian who had been 
captured by Hunt and returned, and who had been 
kind to him at Eastham. Harwood would go with 
the expedition. This would give him opportunity 
to stop at Plymouth and see Dr. Fuller—to give 
him some money for his services to him. 

Why don’t you send young Richard Garrett? 
He is such a useful lad, with a cool head and 
strong muscle to help the seamen, if need be,” 
Margaret Winthrop asked her husband, as they 
talked of the adventurous trip. “ He has worked 
hard here without any change, and I heard him 
telling our Stephen that one of his great ambitions 
was to go to Plymouth and see Miles Standish.” 

“ He would be helpful on the shallop which we 
are using—that owned by Matthew Craddock but 
loaned to the colony—but he is more needed here, 
while we are away. He is young yet, but I place 
great confidence in his courage and good judg¬ 
ment, I shall feel safer, goodwife, while I am 
away with some of my Council, and while Saga¬ 
more John is not here to control his Indians, if 
young men like Samuel Dudley and Richard Gar¬ 
rett are among your guardians.” 

Hannah had worked hard during the winter to 


TO BOSTON 


235 

accomplish two personal tasks. One was a note of 
thanks to Nathaniel Morton for the copy-book 
which Dr. Fuller had brought to her many months 
before; the other was to knit a red cap, as near as 
possible like that which she had brought to Rich¬ 
ard. She had rewritten the few words many times 
but they looked crude and stiff. She thought, 
however, that her signature, “ H. Garrett,’’ was 
quite neat. 

She decided that she must ask Richard to give 
this note and cap, to be delivered by Governor 
Winthrop or Thomas Dudley to the Plymouth 
youth. She was sure he would tease her—but how 
could she send them otherwise? Her fear was ful¬ 
filled, when she explained her commission: 

Who is Nathaniel Morton?” he asked, some¬ 
what roughly. How do you know that you have 
the right size for the red cap? ” 

“ He is about your size, Richard, and I have 
made it like yours.” She spoke with unwonted 
shyness for Hannah. 

Mine did not come from a girl, I hope; besides 
heads vary in sizes and contents. I’ll take the note 
and cap and ask the Governor to present them, with 
the compliments of my silly sister.” 

Hannah was almost in tears and ready to throw 
both note and cap into the fire, when her mother 


FROM BOSTON 


236 

came to her rescue. Never mind, daughter. You 
know that Richard is a sad tease. Perchance, it 
would be more maidenly if you were to send the 
note and cap, in a packet, addressed to Mistress 
Bradford; then she could give them to her nephew, 
Nathaniel.” 

It was a happy suggestion. Hannah broke the 
wax seals that she had managed with difficulty, 
from the last flicker of a wax candle at Mistress 
Winthrop’s house. Then she would borrow the 
inkhorn and quill from Mistress Bradstreet again 
and write the yet more difficult words: “ Mistress 
Alice Bradford—^to be delivered to Nathaniel 
Morton.” She must take pains to do this well, for 
it might be shown to Mistress Hicks and Hannah 
hoped the teacher would be proud of her pupil. 
She must keep in practice, so that her fingers would 
not feel so stiff. 

It was a bright, clear day when the shallop put 
off from the dock. Governor Winthrop, Thomas 
Dudley, and Increase Nowell were all in their best 
cloaks and beaver hats. Sagamore John and his 
sannups wore leather suits and leggings, with 
bright decorations of paint. 

“ Our Indians were in high feather,” laughed 
William Pynchon. Did you note the two 


TO BOSTON 


237 

quills worn by one of the sannups? That means 
he has scalped an enemy.” 

God grant there may be no scalping nor fight¬ 
ing, as a result of this mission,” said John Eliot. 

“ Sagamore John is wise as well as friendly and 
I do not anticipate any trouble,” concluded Simon 
Bradstreet, as the three men walked from the dock 
towards the highway. 

Governor Bradford was moving to his new home 
(on the Jones River at North Plymouth) with its 
sloping roof, large reception-hall, and kitchen. He 
greeted Governor Winthrop and his companions 
with hearty cheer, and insisted that all should join 
him at dinner, even if their lodgings at night might 
be more scattered. Elder Brewster and Stephen 
Hopkins, with Dr. Fuller, offered hospitality. 
The dinner was a veritable feast—^with wild fowl 
and savory stuffing, brown bread steaming from 
the pot in which it had been cooked, succotash of 
scraps of meat with corn and beans, and a delicious 
cake that the hostess called a “ manchet.” That 
tall lad who came in late, to join the younger peo¬ 
ple of the Bradford family at a smaller table in 
the spacious kitchen, must be Nathaniel Morton 
for whom the Governor had a package, sent by 
proxy to Mistress Bradford. Governor Winthrop 
thought he was a “ likely-looking lad.” 


238 FROM BOSTON 

Mistress Fuller was anxious to know what suc¬ 
cess Hannah had won with her bayberry candles. 
She was glad that Mistress Winthrop approved of 
Plymouth products. I have some excellent salve 
that I have made from our herbs, with melted bay- 
berry wax to color it and give it fragrance. I will 
send some of it by you to Mistress Winthrop. Tell 
her it is of value for burns or scratches, which the 
children are often bringing upon themselves by 
their mischief; it is fine, also, for chapped hands 
in the winter.” 

While Governor Winthrop and his aids were 
consulting with Miles Standish about the fort, 
spending much time in his “ study ” in the old 
fortress, with a port-hole which looked out over 
the harbor, the shallop had sailed on with Saga¬ 
more John, his sannups and Henry Harwood to¬ 
wards the encampment of the Nausets. Three days 
passed and no sign of their return. “ If they do 
not hove in sight by to-morrow, we had better 
arrange with Captain Standish for a posse of men,” 
said John Howland, “to go in one of our shal¬ 
lops, for they may need assistance.” 

“ There comes the shallop now. I am sure it is 
the one we are watching for,” exclaimed Elizabeth 
Howland the next morning. She and her two 
little girls, Hope and Desire, were walking towards 


TO BOSTON 


239 


Manomet, in search of the first Mayflowers. They 
had listened to the notes of Bob Whites and robins 
in the meadows. The little girls loved to imitate 
the musical call of Bob White, Around the rocky 
highland appeared the boat. 

It was sailing swiftly in the favoring breeze and 
making for Plymouth harbor. Several people 
had gathered on Leyden Street to await its arrival. 
Hobomok was there, standing close beside Miles 
Standish, eager to see the Sagamore from near 
Boston, and his sannups. In the stern of the boat 
were two Indian women, “ wrapped ” in silence as 
well as shawls. 

“ There will be many hours yet before nightfall, 
and the wind is fresh. It will be best to board the 
shallop and turn her course towards Boston with¬ 
out delay,” urged Governor Winthrop. 

There was to be another passenger on the return 
—for Captain Miles Standish had become so inter¬ 
ested in the plans for the new fort on Corn Hill 
that he decided to go to Boston for a few days. He 
could return with John Winslow who was coming 
thither, with some merchandise for the colonists. 

Gradually, from Henry Harwood and the sea¬ 
men, they learned the story of what had happened 
among the Nausets. Sagamore John had urged 
one of his sannups to take the two feathers out of 


240 


FROM BOSTON 


his head-dress (for they indicated that he had 
scalped an enemy and came not wholly in a 
friendly mood), but he was obstinate and refused 
to do so. 

As Sagamore John feared, the immediate effect 
of this sight on the Nausets was one of resentment. 
Some of the Indians seemed glad to see Sagamore 
John, showing it in their silent, dogged way. 
Weetamo smiled when he saw Henry Harwood. 
But the younger men looked with suspicion on the 
sannups and said “Ugh!’’ in ugly tones. Then 
one of their number went into his wigwam and 
came out with two feathers in his hair, and an ex¬ 
pression of challenge on his face. 

“ I think he was the young warrior of whom 
Hannah told us, whose victory over his enemy had 
been celebrated the same night that she and I 
arrived at their camp last year,” Henry Harwood 
said. 

“ Sagamore John and Weetamo talked about 
taking Winniyata away with them to Boston,” the 
narrator continued his story; “then they talked 
with the older Indians gathered in a circle around 
the camp-fire. The young men listened and some 
of them shook their heads, as if in anger. The 
young warrior of the Nausets seemed to lead the 
opposition, if one might judge by his gestures in 


TO BOSTON 


241 


the direction of Winniyata. When dusk fell, they 
became more excited, as they gathered about the 
fire. A dispute arose between the two Indians 
with the two feathers—one from Boston and the 
other at Nauset. At times they shook their heads 
and spoke in loud, violent voices.” 

‘‘What did Sagamore John do? Couldn’t he 
settle it? ” asked Dudley. 

“ He and Weetamo talked to the older men but 
they only shook their heads and pointed to the 
younger warriors. When the women joined the 
circle, the Nauset youth tried to take the hand of 
Winniyata and lead her into the circle but she held 
back and moved towards Sagamore John, as if for 
protection.” 

“ How did they settle the matter? ” Governor 
Winthrop asked. 

“ That first night it was left undecided and all 
was quiet. The next day one of the older Indians 
suggested that the matter should be settled by a 
game of dice.” 

“ You mean they actually gambled on the girl? 

“Yes, Indians will gamble everything away— 
their clothes, possessions, and their wigwams, even 
the next year’s harvest in their fields.” 

“ It was a better method, perhaps, than to have 
a combat and see which of the youths, with the 


242 FROM BOSTON 

feathers, could scalp the other,’’ Dudley said, with 
a laugh. 

“ That may be true—or not. If they had 
fought, there would have been one less quarrel¬ 
some Indian for the whites to cope with,”—such 
was the suggestion of Miles Standish, who had 
been listening with keen interest to the story. “ Al¬ 
though, I admit, there are many friendly Indians,” 
he added. 

“ So they brought out their dice in a rush basket 
and tossed them, with loud talking, and intervals 
of silence. At first, the chances seemed to be in 
favor of the Nausets; then the warrior’s fortune 
turned and the last three out of four throws came 
in favor of Sagamore John’s sannup.” 

Did the Nausets accept the decision without 
further trouble? ” 

Yes, all Indians accept their fate, whatever it 
may be, without any whining. White men might 
well learn a lesson from them in this way. When 
it was decided that Winniyata was to go away, an 
older squaw led her to her wigwam without any 
sign of farewell. Then two Indians took sticks 
which they call ‘ calumets ’—perforated sticks like 
the stems of pipes, one painted blue and the other 
green, with symbolic decorations of quills and 
plumage of birds. These they gave to Sagamore 


TO BOSTON 


243 

John, first; then he passed them to the two warriors 
who had gambled, and they held them, as the rest 
of the Indians sang a weird chant, rising slowly 
from the ground and walking in a circle. That 
was the sign of peace after conflict.” 

Was there a farewell feast for Sagamore John 
and Winniyata? ” Dudley inquired. 

“ Nothing of the sort. Word was sent to us by 
Weetamo that, as soon as it was dark, we should go 
to the shallop and wait there quietly until dawn— 
and then depart.” 

Perhaps they were afraid that the Nausets 
would repent of their peace and try to keep the 
woman with them, after all,” suggested Increase 
Nowell. 

No,” Miles Standish explained. “ It is the 
Indian custom to move stealthily, without any signs 
of departure beforehand. They have learned to 
be wily and secretive in their movements—and it 
never takes them long to ^ pack up.’ ” 


244 


FROM BOSTON 


CHAPTER XIII 

HOW A PLOT WAS FRAMED AND FOILED 

Meantime^ during the four days when the 
shallop was on its mission to Plymouth and the 
Nausets, much was happening in Boston. The 
shallop sailed on a Thursday. In keeping with 
the custom of the colony, that was sermon night ” 
at the meeting-house. John Eliot was to lead the 
prayers and preach the sermon. The hour was in 
the late afternoon, that the service might be over at 
nightfall. Richard was at hand to call the people 
by his drum-beats but he sat down near the en¬ 
trance. Hannah thought he should sit near the 
front benches, with Samuel Dudley and his young 
wife, and Stephen Winthrop. If not, he should sit 
with her, for she had come alone to this service, as 
her mother was kept at home, caring for Faith who 
had a bad cold and fever. Richard, however, had 
shaken his head, when she beckoned him to join 
her, and he had asked Mistress Harwood to sit be¬ 
side Hannah. 

John Eliot took this occasion to tell the settlers 
how kind God had been to them, to instill into the 


TO BOSTON 


245 


hearts of the red men such impulses of helpfulness. 
He reminded them that when the white men came, 
it was the Indian who had taught him how best to 
plant corn, and had shown the housewives how to 
pound the corn and cook it in savory ways.” 
Hannah thought she liked better her mother’s mix¬ 
tures and broths than those of the Indians, although 
she did like Yawata’s bread, made with rye and 
corn meal. 

Then John Eliot told of the kindness shown to 
the white settlers during the first severe winter in 
Boston. “ The wolf was at the door,” he said. 

Now that was strange,” Hannah thought, for 
she only heard the wolves howling in the dis¬ 
tance ”—but the minister was explaining, “ So 
sore was our need that we were like children, about 
to be consumed by the wolf of hunger. Then came 
Indians, especially Sagamore John and Chickata- 
bot, and brought some measures of meal—all they 
could spare, for the harvest had not been great.” 

As the good preacher was expanding this theme 
of friendship on the part of the Indians, Richard 
heard a slight noise outside the door and he 
stealthily stepped out to investigate. No one was 
in sight and the green slope seemed full of peaceful 
beauty, in the fading colors of the sunset. He was 
about to return to his seat of vigilance, inside the 


FROM BOSTON 


246 

meeting-house, when he heard again what sounded 
like a hoarse whisper. Moving quickly around 
the side of the meeting-house towards the harbor, 
he saw two white men and an Indian standing, 
almost hidden behind a tree, and talking in low, 
hushed tones. They looked up and saw Richard; 
before he could reach them, or call any one inside 
-the meeting-house, they had scattered in different 
directions. The Indian was, evidently, running to 
a canoe that Richard had seen on the shore, close to 
the dock, on that forenoon after the shallop had 
sailed. 

He had caught only a glimpse of the two white 
men, but he was sure one of them was a man named 
White from Watertown who had been convicted, a 
short time before, of selling a musket, with powder 
and shot, to one of the sannups of Sagamore James. 
He had been publicly whipped and branded on the 
cheek—Richard was sure he saw that mark on the 
face of the white man, who was whispering in the 
loudest tone. 

Should he tell Samuel Dudley, or better, Simon 
Bradstreet, what he had seen? His first impulse 
was to do so. Then he feared such a word might 
cause a panic of fear, especially if the women 
should hear of it—and both those men were mar¬ 
ried and would likely tell their wives—he thought. 


TO BOSTON 24.7 

with some superiority, because he could keep his 
OW 71 secret from women. It was more than pos¬ 
sible that the Indian and the two whites were 
bartering, and had spoken in whispers because they 
knew a service was in the meeting-house. Why 
did they come there to barter at that time, then? 
Possibly, they had appointed the place and hour 
without recalling what would be taking place near 
them. They were going away when they saw 
Richard; they might have thought he objected to 
their voices, low as they were, near the meeting¬ 
house, and so they had finished their “ business ’’ 
quickly and separated. He would try not to be 
too suspicious, as Hannah said he was prone to be. 
Just the same, he would keep a close watch and re¬ 
port to Simon Bradstreet any second cause for sus¬ 
picion, while the Governor and his deputy were 
away. 

The next day Richard did not go out to Gover¬ 
nor Winthrop’s farm as he had planned to do. He 
decided that it would be well to stay near the shore, 
in case any more Indians should appear in canoes. 
If there were enemies among them, they would be 
likely to choose this time, while Sagamore John 
and his sannups were away, to bring terror to the 
white people. He would help the bricklayers, 
who were building two new houses of brick, with 


FROM BOSTON 


248 

stone chimneys, on Spring Lane, not far from 
Governor Winthrop’s house. From this place he 
could overlook the harbor and be near in case of 
any disturbance. 

As Faith was still feverish and choked with a 
croupy cough, her mother did not like to leave her, 
so she sent Hannah the next day to the Governor’s 
house to assist Ann, the trusty servant, in polishing 
the brasses and selecting linen for use when the 
Governor should return and, possibly, bring some 
Plymouth leader with him, as he had told his wife 
he might do. Yawata had come with a girdle of 
soft skin, which she had embroidered with beads, 
for the Governor’s wife. She was urged to stay 
and help with the cooking, for she could make ex¬ 
cellent corn-meal bread and a savory dish which 
was called Indian pudding.” Hannah became so 
interested in watching the cooking, and filling the 
pewter bowls with fresh flowers, that she did not 
realize that it was almost dark when she was ready 
to go home. Yawata was starting at the same 
time. As Mistress Winthrop came to the door to 
say Good-night to her two helpers, she realized 
that dusk was falling and that Hannah’s mother 
might be uneasy if she were out alone at that hour, 
so she pointed to Hannah, then towards the home 
of Mistress Garrett, then to Yawata and said 


TO BOSTON 249 

slowly, “ Yawata, go home with Hannah?” The 
squaw understood almost immediately and bowed 
her head. She took the hand of the young girl as 
they iwalked away. > 

They were good comrades, although they seldom 
spoke, for Hannah knew only a few Indian phrases 
and Yawata was equally limited in her English. 
Hannah skipped along in gay spirits, holding the 
hand of the Indian woman; the latter was hum¬ 
ming softly an Indian lullaby. Mistress Winthrop 
had given Hannah a package for her mother, con¬ 
taining some fine threads and a piece of lace to be 
made into a baby’s cap. “Tell her there is no 
hurry about this lace-cap making but she may like 
to work on it during the long summer evenings.” 

Where was that package? Mistress Winthrop 
had put it in a small basket with a few sprays of 
pink laurel for Faith. Hannah dropped the hand 
of Yawata and looked about her. She must have 
forgotten it, for she could not have dropped it. 
No, she did not have it when she took Yawata’s 
hand. It must be on the settle in the hall, where 
she laid down the basket as she put on her hood and 
tied the strings. She tried to explain to the Indian 
woman, but few of her words were understood 
until she said, “ I will run back and get it; you 
wait here; I will come back.” 


250 


FROM BOSTON 


“Wait” and “come back” were words in the 
vocabulary of Yawata. She could see Hannah as 
she ran swiftly back towards the Governor’s house. 
The dark was coming fast but it was not yet upon 
them. She could watch the child if she sat down 
on a boulder beside the highway. She was tired 
after her busy day and she had a long tramp back 
to her own encampment, after she should leave 
Hannah at home. 

Her moccasins made no sound as she moved to 
the big stone and took her seat. It was so quiet 
and restful there! Then she heard a low “ Ugh! ” 
and strained her ears to listen for other sounds. 
Who was there? In the silence she hardly 
breathed—but she listened. Behind that boulder 
were hidden some men, probably only two or three, 
and they were talking so excitedly that they had not 
known of her approach. One must be an Indian— 
but not of her tribe, for she knew the voices of all 
in the encampment of Sagamore John. He might 
be one of the Terrentines. Then she heard him 
tell the other men—^were they Indians or white?— 
of the plan for the next night, to come in canoes, 
attack the white settlers and burn some of the 
houses. It was the chance they had waited for— 
and so had some of the angry white servants. The 
Governor was away, and Sagamore John was away 


TO BOSTON 


251 

also, so they could attack and steal what they 
pleased, for the white men had promised them 
more muskets and powder. They would wait until 
all had gone to bed in the settlement, then they 
would rush upon them and, perhaps, carry away 
one or two into captivity, for the big ransom they 
would receive. 

With a quick instinct of danger for the white 
people, who had proved to be her friends, and a 
sense of responsibility in the absence of Sagamore 
John, Yawata made a wise decision. As softly as 
she had come, she slid down from the boulder, and 
hurried across the soft grass to meet Hannah. 
They would take another path to the Garrett home, 
where plotters would not see or hear them. She 
must tell her secrets to some one—to some man. 
How could she reach Thomas Dudley and Simon 
Bradstreet in New-Town, as night was falling? 
If Richard Garrett were at home, perhaps she 
might tell him and he would report to the men. 
She must not frighten Mistress Winthrop or any 
other women or children. 

Hannah was a little surprised to be led a longer 
way to her home but she was always glad of a walk 
with Yawata—and in the evening air. She was 
more surprised, when they reached her home, to 
have Yawata come in the doorway, for she usually 


252 


FROM BOSTON 


hurried back to the Indian encampment at night¬ 
fall. What was Yawata saying? Brother 
home? ” Of course, she must mean Richard and 
he was at home, sitting by the fireplace, studying a 
chart that he had drawn of the three hills, with a 
grist mill designed on one, a fort on another, and a 
belfry tower on the third. Yawata seldom paid 
any attention to Richard and he did not generally 
speak to the squaw, although Hannah had heard 
her mother urge him to say Good-day to her on one 
occasion. Now, however, he was going out of the 
door with Yawata, and she was curious to know 
why? The Indian woman had beckoned to 
Richard to join her, as she left the cabin. 

Well, whatever might be secrets between them, 
she had her own interests. She must give her 
mother the package, that she had almost forgotten, 
with Mistress Winthrop’s message. She must put 
the laurel in the brass bowl by the fireplace, for 
Faith to enjoy. She became so interested in telling 
Faith about the cooking that had been done at the 
Governor’s house, and in playing with the new 
Tabby that Richard had brought to Faith from the 
Ten Hills farm, that she did not notice her 
brother’s hasty word in farewell to his mother. As 
he took down his musket, and slung his powder- 
horn around his shoulder, he said, in a low tone. 


TO BOSTON 


253 

“ I may not be back, Mother, until morning. I 
may be needed as an extra watch. But don’t be 
frightened. Everything will be all right to-night/' 

To himself, Richard acknowledged cause for 
anxiety. If the Indians and the white traitors 
were to make a bargain, while the Governor and 
his deputies were away, tragic results might over¬ 
take the settlement. He must get word to Simon 
Bradstreet and Samuel Dudley! They were stay¬ 
ing at Thomas Dudley’s house in New-Town and 
it was a long way, even after one crossed the river 
at the ford. He would venture to take one 
of the Governor’s small boats that were drifting 
beside The Blessing of the Bay, and row to the 
nearest point on the New-Town side. He stopped 
at the open green, below the meeting-house, where 
six men were on watch and told them to keep a 
sharp outlook for any chance prowlers. He said 
he would join them later and bring Samuel Dudley 
with him, to relieve two of the watchers. Then he 
disappeared in the darkness. 

“ A good lad and ever industrious! ” said one of 
the watch to his companion, as Richard left them. 

Yet he is over-forward for one so young. It 
would seem to-night as if he felt he must even tell 
us to do our duty, and give directions, as if he were 
Governor Winthrop himself.” 


254 


FROM BOSTON 


“ He has had much responsibility thrust upon 
him since his father’s death a year ago. Governor 
Winthrop and Thomas Dudley rate him highly— 
perhaps too much so for his good. Did you hear 
Thomas Dudley say, jokingly, to young Richard, 
as the shallop sailed away, Take good care of the 
settlement, Richard, as would your great hero, 
Miles Standish ” ? 

It seemed a long walk alone in the dark from the 
shore to Thomas Dudley’s house but Richard had 
gained a long, steady stride and he arrived just as 
the last candles were being extinguished in the 
deputy’s house. Without much noise he gained 
the attention of Samuel Dudley, by throwing up 
some grains of sand and calling his name in a low 
voice. They walked away from the house, lest 
their voices might be heard by Mistress Dudley or 
some other woman. Richard narrated to Samuel 
the tale that Yawata, in her broken English, had 
tried to tell him. She had repeated the words— 
bad Indians—kill—bad white—to-morrow.” 

Now, what do you think she meant by ‘ bad 
white ’ ? ” Samuel Dudley asked. 

Then Richard told him of the experiences of the 
previous night, after Thursday’s sermon. He re¬ 
called for him the strange noises and whispers that 


TO BOSTON 


255 

he had heard, and his unwillingness to alarm any 
one needlessly, since the Indian and white men 
might be only bartering, not plotting. ‘^They 
seemed fearful lest some one might see them, how¬ 
ever, and hurried away in separate directions. I 
am sure that one of the white men had a brand on 
his cheek. He was probably that Hopkins of 
Watertown who has sold firearms to the Indians at 
Sagamore James’ camp.” 

Samuel Dudley agreed that such was “ a likely 
surmise; ” and he said: “ Nor is it unlikely that the 
other white man may have been that lawless James 
Woodward, who seems to be made more lawless 
and ugly by each whipping that is given him. He 
has been in the stocks, but even that has no effect 
on his defiance to law and traitorous plots. He 
should be sent back to England in chains/^ 

Richard was glad when Samuel Dudley said, I 
shall not tell my wife or mother—or Anne Brad- 
street about this danger. In truth, it may be well 
not to alarm Simon Bradstreet until the morning. 
I will get my horse and we can ride to your boat 
and tether the horse there until to-morrow when I 
return. We can both ride on the bay mare that 
Governor Endicott gave to my father when we 
came from Salem., When we get to Boston, we 
can get permission from John Wilson or William 


FROM BOSTON 


256 

Pynchon to take one of the Governor’s mounts, if 
need be, to send messages of warning to the near-by 
and more distant settlements.” 

When he was called into consultation, the next 
morning, Simon Bradstreet advised that an extra 
training-day should be proclaimed for that very 
afternoon, and that word should be sent for recruits 
from Watertown and Roxbury, as well as Charles¬ 
town. Such a sight, he declared, would impress 
the Indians with the sturdy men who would defend 
the settlements—and might delay, if not prevent, 
the plots by the white traitors. Samuel was to ride 
to the farthest settlements with the message and 
Richard was to notify and summon those nearer 
Boston. 

They had sent the men on watch to their homes 
for sleep, and were keeping guard, with the mare 
tethered at a tree close by. It was nearly dawn be¬ 
fore the men heard any sounds. Then came 
stealthy footsteps, seemingly near the meeting¬ 
house. It had been agreed that, if any marauder 
should appear, white or red man, they would wait 
until they were sure who they were and, if possible, 
seize them in the very act of their mischief. Hid¬ 
den behind two adjacent trees, the watchers lis¬ 
tened. Soon they heard a grating sound, as if a 
heavy door were creaking on its hinges. 


TO BOSTON 257 

“ The thieves and rascals must have broken into 
the storeroom back of the meeting-house and are 
after the muskets there,” said Samuel Dudley. 
“ Wait a little! Have your musket ready to fire if 
they threaten us! ” 

At that instant, the mare that had been ridden by 
Dudley became weary of her loneliness and 

neighed,” in a loud, penetrating sound. In¬ 
stantly, there were running feet, coming towards 
Samuel Dudley and Richard. 

''Seize your man; if he has a musket, be on 
your guard! ” said Dudley. " There are three of 
them. Trip them up!” 

They were close to the trees where the watchers 
were hiding. As James Woodward led the way, 
Richard rushed out and grabbed the man’s musket, 
at the same time tripping him, so he fell on the 
ground. Samuel Dudley had grabbed the musket 
of the second, who proved to be John Fox, a mal¬ 
content servant who had been punished for blas¬ 
phemy and contempt of the Court. He held his 
man with a firm grip, as Richard was trying to tie 
the hands and feet of James Woodward with a 
piece of heavy hemp, which he had put in his 
pocket for just such an emergency. His prisoner 
struggled and kicked the lad; he tried to bite his 
fingers but Richard had muscles of iron which 


FROM BOSTON 


258 

matched his will. Bereft of their muskets—^which 
had been kicked away where they could not reach 
them—and deserted by their third ally, Hopkins, 
these older servants could not escape from their 
younger captors. 

Yes, they could hold the two older men, as long 
as they could keep them on the ground, but where 
would they take them? Could they handle them 
alone? Already John Fox was sliding along the 
ground, swearing at Richard and making frantic 
efforts to rise; probably he would manage in some 
way to make an escape. In his last, desperate 
plunge he had hit the musket, belonging to Rich¬ 
ard, and it had exploded. The first thought of 
Richard was one of angry regret at this sound, for 
he feared it might frighten the women and cause 
a panic. The second reaction was one of relief 
that it had happened. The sound of a gun was a 
signal for immediate investigation—and generally 
for alarm, especially if it were heard in the night. 
William Pynchon had risen early that morning, 
for he planned to go to Salem, for more consulta¬ 
tion with the builders and brick-makers there. He 
heard the musket’s report, as he was dressing. 
Quickly, he roused one of his men servants, who 
was sleeping in a tent outside the house, and to¬ 
gether, with their muskets, they started on a run 


TO BOSTON 


259 

in the direction of the meeting-house, where the 
sound seemed to be located. 

Two to one solved the question of holding and 
imprisoning the two white men, who were plotting 
with the Indians to bring tragedy upon the colony. 

Put them in the strong room where they got the 
muskets, and lock them in there, until the Governor 
returns,” advised William Pynchon. If they 
are bound hand and foot—and Richard seems to 
have done a good job with his hemp-line—and the 
door is locked securely with more rope, we can 
leave them there to fast a spell and think upon 
their future punishment.” 

“ It would be well to appoint a guard or fwo 
to stand near the meeting-house, even if these men 
seem powerless to escape or do more harm,” sug¬ 
gested Richard. “ There might be some wily In¬ 
dians lurking about to communicate with them or 
send word to other Indians. Yawata was sure they 
intended to attack us this night. I can stay here for 
a spell and keep the guard.” 

‘‘ Go you home and get a little sleep, lad—and 
ask your mother to mend the rent in your hose 
which the feet of your captive have torn—and I 
will leave my faithful servant, Thomas, to keep 
the watch. Meantime, Samuel had better ride 
back to New-Town and tell Simon Bradstreet 


260 


FROM BOSTON 


what has happened. In the absence of the Gov¬ 
ernor and his deputies, he would have much 
authority. One of these days he will be Governor 
himself,” William Pynchon prophesied. 

Half the danger is past,” Richard said to 
Simon Bradstreet and Samuel Dudley, as they 
met for conference in front of the meeting-house, 
just before the training-hour.” “ How shall we 
foil the Indians in their share of the plot? Not so 
easy as it was to capture the two prisoners who are 
fasting yonder ”—he pointed to the strong room 
behind them. “ I can hide on the shore, after the 
training is over, and watch—or rather, listen, for 
the first sounds of any canoes that may be ap¬ 
proaching in the darkness.” 

“ I wish we might have captured the third 
traitor this morning,” Samuel Dudley said. “ I 
feel sure it was Hopkins of Watertown, who has 
sold arms to the Indians and seems to have secret 
dealings with them. He has a canoe of birch-bark 
that he has moored sometimes on this shore.” 

“ Probably it was his canoe, then, that I saw this 
morning when I walked, on my way home, to¬ 
wards the shore, to make sure nothing had been 
done to injure or move The Blessing of the Bay. 
’Tis the pride of the Governor,” Richard added. 


TO BOSTON 


261 

and he would be grieved should any mischance 
come to it. If you agree ”—he turned towards 
Simon Bradstreet as if asking permission from this 
influential leader—“ I will station myself close to 
this canoe at dusk and watch for any communica¬ 
tion between Hopkins and hostile Indians, who 
might come from Agawam.” 

“ Excellent counsel, lad,” was the rejoinder. 
“ You have an old head on your young shoulders.” 

Shortly before the men reported for the train¬ 
ing-hour, Yawata came with Sagamore James and 
six of his sannups to the Governor’s house. The 
men waited outside while the squaw went in and 
gave to Ann, for her mistress, a braided rug as a 
gift, with some clusters of blue lupin. Then she 
joined the men and they went towards the green. 
As soon as he saw John Eliot approaching with 
his Indian housemate and interpreter, Sagamore 
James moved towards them and spoke to the latter 
in low, earnest tones, often shaking his head. 

“ Sagamore James says that the Indians in his 
encampment are all friendly to the white settlers,” 
the interpreter reported to John Eliot. “ He says 
only the Terrentines are hostile—and they are 
cruel enemies, also, to the Indians on Cape Ann.” 

‘‘We have had suspicions at times that Saga¬ 
more James was not so true to us as his brother and 


262 


FROM BOSTON 


sister have been,” John Wilson told John Eliot as 
they walked towards the Governor’s house to call 
upon his Lady and assure her that all danger for 
the colony was past. Sagamore James is more 
wily by nature; but I do not believe he is mixed up 
in this new plot, else he would not have come into 
the settlement to-day. He must have heard of the 
capture of the white men and the widespread 
preparations to defend the place against any attack 
by land or sea, from Indians or rebellious white 
servants.” 


263 



\ 

\ 

TO BOSTON 

CHAPTER XIV 

THE HAPPIEST DAY IN MY LIFE 

It was an exciting day for the women and chil¬ 
dren in Boston. The men and boys may have been 
as much excited, but they showed less evidence of 
their interest in the “ extra training-day ” in which 
many of them were to have their share. Hannah 
was anxious to see the men in their procession with 
their muskets—some with swords in their belts— 
and three drummers, in addition to Richard, to 
^^keep them in step.” Faith was still in bed, so 
Mistress Garrett could not leave her; she hesitated 
to allow Hannah to go without an older woman. 

“ Perhaps Ann will be going from the Gover¬ 
nor’s house,” Hannah suggested. May I go with 
her?” 

Before her mother could answer, Hannah caught 
sight of Yawata, walking behind a group of Indian 
men, almost past the Garrett home. 

Yawata is there—all alone—and she will 
watch the training. Can’t I go with her? ” she 
asked eagerly. 

“Yes, the squaw has done many a kindly turn 


FROM BOSTON 


264 

to you, child, and to us all. I feel it is safe for you 
to be with her. Be sure to come home as soon as 
the training is over! I will have a fowl-pie and 
some loaf, for Richard must be hungry and tired 
after his long hours of watching. I hope he can 
sleep this night,” said his mother, unconscious of 
the dangers that had threatened them. Richard 
had been firm in his determination to tell no 
“ secrets ” to women, old or young. 

Hannah skipped along beside Yawata. The 
men were gathering; some had helmets. Had 
Robert Weldon lived, he would have been cap¬ 
tain of one hundred foot ” on this day—fully that 
number had assembled from the settlements. They 
had come from Watertown in good numbers, from 
Roxbury and Dorchester, from New-Town and 
several scattered groups yet nearer to Boston. 
Samuel Dudley assisted Robert Feake in arranging 
the ranks and giving directions for the marches, 
counter-marches and exhibition of arms. Rich¬ 
ard beat the drum with more zest than ever 
before. He interwove, with the usual slow meas¬ 
ures, some livelier strains from that march he had 
learned in the school at old Boston. It seemed to 
Hannah that he was inches taller and finer-looking 
than she had ever noticed. When the hour of 
training was over, and John Wilson made a prayer 


TO BOSTON 


265 

and announced a hymn of praise, as the ending 
of the hour, Hannah could hear Richard’s strong 
voice, which seemed to lead the singing, with more 
rapid time-beats than was customary at meeting. 

It is a very fine fowl-pie that you have cooked, 
Mother,” said Richard, and I would like yet 
another serving but I have a feeling that I must 
be off again on the watch. Don’t fear, Mother, for 
the danger is over now, I feel sure. It is well, 
however, to keep vigilant for the night. To-mor¬ 
row the Governor will be returning from Plym¬ 
outh and then there will be plenty of time to eat 
and sleep,” he added with a laugh, as he shouldered 
his musket and hurried out of the door. 

“ Bless the lad. He is a noble-hearted, brave- 
spirited man already, if I say it as I shouldn’t, 
since he is my boy. How proud his father would 
be could he see him to-day! ” 

Did Richard say the Governor would come 
to-morrow, Mother? ” Hannah asked. I hope 
he will come, for then we shall all be more sure 
of our safety from attack. I have another reason 
for hoping he will come to-morrow/^ 

What is that? ” asked Faith, who was allowed 
to sit up for a little time, in front of the glowing 
fire. 

Because—probably W^inniyata will come with 


266 


FROM BOSTON 


him and Sagamore John—and that will be a won¬ 
derful celebration for my birthday.” 

^‘Your birthday, child? Yes, you are right. 
To-morrow is your birthday, and you will be four¬ 
teen years old. It doesn’t seem possible, for only 
a short time ago you and Richard were both small 
children.” 

Could I go with you to Mistress Winthrop’s 
to-morrow, to help her serve the ‘ feast,’ if the 
large shallop comes in with the Governor and his 
party? ” 

“Yes, if Faith is as much better to-morrow as 
she promises to be, she may go to Mistress Har¬ 
wood’s and play with little John for a few hours. 
Her fever is gone and the goose oil has completely 
cured her croup. I shall keep a supply on hand 
for the next winter. It may be of use in the Gover¬ 
nor’s home and at Mistress Bradstreet’s when the 
children get colds.” 

“ You could sell it. Mother, if you would seal 
some of the oil in bottles. That is what Mistress 
Fuller does at Plymouth, and she collects many a 
shilling in this way from the households that are 
in need of such ointment. We will have Richard 
bring in some wild geese from Mistick; then we 
will have the fowl for a stew or roast and the oil, 
strained and corked, to rub on throat and chest.” 


TO BOSTON 


267 

“What a little business-woman my Hannah is 
getting to be! ” laughed Mistress Garrett. “ I fear 
me I have not so much ambition nor so many ideas 
about money-making as you have. It is my instinct 
to give rather than to sell but you are right—^we 
need all the shillings we can get. The money from 
the sale of your bayberry candles was a great help 
last winter.” 

“ I shall make yet more next autumn and sell 
them in more families in Watertown and Roxbury. 
Perhaps I could send some back to England in 
some ship, like that of good Captain Pierce, the 
Lyon, They ought to sell well in London, among 
the rich ladies who like novelties. Then I should 
be, in truth, ‘ Hannah Garrett, Candle-Moulder to 
the Queen,’ ” and she laughed. 

Richard stopped to consult with Simon Brad- 
street on his way to the shore. It was arranged 
that, if he heard any sounds of canoes approaching 
or other sinister move on the water, he should fire 
off his musket twice. He noticed that a few of 
the Indians were lingering near the green, sitting 
on the ground and playing one of their inevitable 
games of chance. One of them looked keenly at 
Richard as he passed by, laughed in a mocking 
way, and pointed towards the shore. It was not 


268 


FROM BOSTON 


yet dark—for there was an afterglow that lighted 
the sky and reflected its golden windows ” upon 
the few panes of glass in the Governor’s house. 
Samuel Dudley walked with Richard a part of the 
way; then he turned back to superintend the watch 
on the hill above the green where the new Fort 
was to be built. 

What was that sound? It was dim, but Richard 
thought it sounded like the paddle of a canoe. He 
ran through the last wooded stretch before he 
should reach the clearing above the shore. Yes, 
it was a canoe, but it was moving away rather than 
towards the shore. Two persons were in it; one 
was an Indian but the other had on a cape and 
kept the hood over his head. For a second, Rich¬ 
ard feared it might be Sagamore James, disguised 
in his “ English clothes,” who was proving untrue 
to his pledge of fealty and going out to meet some 
hostile Indians, to guide them into the harbor. 

The next instant, he knew that he had judged 
Sagamore James and his race unjustly. The mys¬ 
terious man turned and saw Richard on the shore. 
Then he raised a musket and fired a shot that 
echoed loudly, as it struck a rock, not five feet 
from where Richard was standing. Before he 
covered his head again, as the canoe sped on its 
way, Richard recognized him as Hopkins of 


TO BOSTON 


269 

Watertown who had escaped them that morning. 
He had doubtless been in hiding somewhere all 
day, then had kept his rendezvous with some 
treacherous Indian who had been hiding, also, and 
they were now on their way to meet or warn the 
Terrentines. Yes, the canoe to which Samuel Dud¬ 
ley had referred, was gone from its place on the 
shore. 

At first, Richard was disappointed at the anti¬ 
climax to this night of watching for attack by the 
Indians. Then he gave a sigh of relief at the 
sequel. No one could predict what tragedy might 
have resulted had a large number of Indians come, 
and made successful contacts with those cowardly, 
yet bold traitors. Fox, Woodward, and Hopkins. 
Why were the people running down to the beach, 
led by Robert Feake and Samuel Dudley? Oh, 
they had heard the shot, doubtless, and thought 
it was a signal from Richard for help. “ If I had 
come down here right after training, instead of 
going home and taking time to eat fowl-pie, I 
might have caught Hopkins when he came for his 
canoe, before he could get away,” he thought in a 
moment of self-anger. That Hopkins and the 
Indian might have overpowered him, even killed 
or captured him, never entered the mind of Rich¬ 
ard, the patriotic lad. He did not lack for com- 


FROM BOSTON 


270 

pany in his vigil that night, for a dozen men stayed 
with him on the shore, taking turns at watching 
and sleeping. The night turned cold and William 
Pynchon sent down a tent and two of his ser¬ 
vants to pitch it, as a protection for the watchers 
on the shore. A brisk wind stirred the waves to 
white caps; the only sound to break the silence of 
the night was the breaking of the waves and the 
hooting of an owl in the wood, beyond the settle¬ 
ment. 

All the next day, with its clear skies and stiff 
breeze, Margaret Winthrop watched for her hus¬ 
band’s return, hoping that he might arrive in time 
for the feast ” which had been prepared—that 
would be, in truth, a feast of thanksgiving.” 
Richard waited on the hillside above the harbor, 
armed now, however, with his drum, and not his 
musket. At the first sign of the shallop, he would 
beat the drum and the people would know that the 
Governor was arriving, and would hasten down to 
meet him. Hannah could not stay in the house, 
so excited was she at the prospect of Winniyata’s 
coming, so she was allowed to go down to the 
Governor’s house and stay with Ann. 

At intervals. Mistress Winthrop came into the 
kitchen to ask if all was in readiness for the dinner. 


TO BOSTON 


271 

should the Governor come before nightfall. She 
smiled kindly at Hannah and asked if her mother 
were coming later to help her. “ This is Hannah’s 
birthday,” Ann told her mistress on one of these 
periodic visits, and Hannah remembered to make 
a low curtsey when Mistress Winthrop said, 
“ Many happy returns of the day, Hannah.” That 
was a gift—to be spoken to so lovingly by Mistress 
Winthrop—but a greater gift was in store. In a 
few minutes, the gracious lady returned to the 
kitchen, bringing a little leather box in her hand 
which she gave to Hannah, saying, Here is a gift, 
Hannah, which belonged to me when I was about 
your age. I hope you will enjoy it as much as I 
have done.” 

So overwhelmed was the girl that she forgot her 
curtsey this time and failed to find any words—a 
most unusual occurrence for Hannah Garrett. 
Within that leather box was a small turquoise 
brooch, as beautiful and blue as was her blue-bird 
locket. She turned to Ann with a queer sound that 
might be either a sob or a laugh. There! There! 
child. Let us put the pretty brooch in your ker¬ 
chief—and see how fine it looks.” 

“ But I forgot to make my curtsey—and I 
couldn't get my breath to say ‘Thank you,’” 
pleaded Hannah. 


272 


FROM BOSTON 


Never mind! You can make two curtseys the 
next time. What is that noise? ” she asked, with 
a sudden look of alarm. 

^^The drum! The drum!” shouted Hannah. 

The shallop must be in sight. They are coming 
in this very afternoon —on my birthday, I hope 
they will fire a salute to Captain Standish! ” 

Soon the people came from all directions to 
watch the Governor’s arrival. Before the shallop 
made port—for it took what seemed many hours, 
to those who were waiting on shore—Sagamore 
John and Yawata had joined the white settlers, 
with a few straggling Indians. With Yawata came 
the son of the Sagamore John, with his lively dog, 
yelping and jumping about him. Was Winniyata 
there with Sagamore John? The question was a 
vital one to both Yawata and Hannah. The young 
Indian girl was not in sight as the boat came to 
dock, and disappointment dimmed their pleasure. 

Who is that short man with the Governor, with 
his helmet and long cape on? ” asked Ann, as she 
and Hannah waited, side by side. 

That is Captain Miles Standish—I said it 
was/^ shouted Stephen Winthrop, as he ran for¬ 
ward. “ Mother did not tell me he was coming.” 

“ No more did she tell me/' Ann said. “ But 
he does not look like a very large eater, and we 


TO BOSTON 273 

have ample for the feast. I am glad that I dusted 
and aired the guest linen and coverlet.’’ 

“ There’s Winniyata,” Hannah said with excite¬ 
ment, as the young squaw came forward shyly, at 
the request of Sagamore John and waved her hand 
to Yawata and Hannah. She is as beautiful as 
ever. Isn’t she beautiful, Ann?” 

‘‘ Mayhap, if one likes such dark skins,” was 
the English woman’s answer. “ But I must haste 
back to the house and start final preparations for 
the dinner. Here is your mother, Hannah, and 
she is beckoning to us.” 

Hannah was allowed to wait with Mistress 
Bradstreet, Mistress Dudley—the young wife of 
Samuel—and Patience Dudley to walk in the pro¬ 
cession from the dock to the Governor’s house. 
Richard beat the drum with vigor, and the escort 
included old and young, white “ gentlefolk ” and 
red men. Hannah had another thrill of excitement 
and joy when, as she waited for her turn to join 
the procession, she heard Miles Standish ask, as he 
walked past with Governor Winthrop, “ Isn’t that 
the Garrett girl whose father died from the frost? 
She was in Plymouth for several weeks last year! ” 
To think the great fighter should remember her! 
He looked much better in his uniform, which he 
always wore on “ state occasions,” as Dr. Fuller 


274 


FROM BOSTON 


had said. Later she might get courage to ask him 
how Lorea Standish and Betty Alden were. 

Pungent odors of roasts and vegetables, suet 
puddings and home-made brew filled the air about 
the Governor’s house for some time before the dis¬ 
tinguished guests were seated at the long table for 
the “ feast.” Some of Hannah’s bayberry candles 
gave light and color; bunches of laurel and lupin, 
that she had gathered, decorated the damask linen 
which her mother had spun. Mistress Winthrop 
gave directions for “ the watchers and the drum¬ 
mer ” to be served in the kitchen, after the roasts 
of venison and fowl had been carved and appor¬ 
tioned for the “ Governor’s table.” Here were 
seated the Plymouth captain, the deputies and their 
wives, Mistress Thomas Dudley and Increase 
Nowell, Simon Bradstreet and his wife, Anne, and 
Samuel Dudley and his wife, Mary Winthrop, 
Hannah and her mother assisted Ann and the 
other maid-servants to dish up ” the food and 
send it in, properly garnished, on trays and 
trenchers. 

As soon as she could slip out without being 
missed, Hannah tried to find Yawata and Winni- 
yata. The dark had fallen and she feared they 
had gone back to the Indian encampment; but the 
thoughtful Governor’s Lady had not forgotten to 


TO BOSTON 275 

provide for the four Indians, Sagamore John and 
his son, Yawata and Winniyata. They were seated 
on the ground, in the rear of the house, enjoying 
generous shares of the spiced meat, Indian pud¬ 
ding, and home brew. Their hands were satis¬ 
factory implements for their use in eating. When 
Hannah took the hand of Winniyata, to show her 
welcome, she found it warm and sticky. By signs 
the two girls exchanged their joy at this reunion. 
Yawata seemed to understand Hannah when she 
explained that Winniyata should come to the Gar¬ 
rett home the next day and see her mother. 

‘‘We will have much to tell you, goodwife, 
about the days in Plymouth and the friendly 
messages from Governor Bradford and his Lady, 
and others who have sent you greetings and gifts,” 
said Governor Winthrop. “ You will find the story 
of how the young Indian girl—^what is her name? 
—^was gambled for and finally won for Sagamore 
John, another interesting part of our tale. But 
now, tell me how have affairs gone in this colony 
in our absence? Everything seems quite as pros¬ 
perous and peaceful as when we are here. Is that 
not so. Deputies?” He turned, with a smile, to 
Thomas Dudley and Increase Nowell. 

“ Speak you, Simon Bradstreet, for the stay-at- 
homes,” said Margaret Winthrop, “ and tell the 


FROM BOSTON 


276 

Governor and our military guest—^what exciting 
events have taken place in Boston in his absence! ” 
“ If my memory serves me right, there is a Fable 
among those by Phaedrus which, if translated from 
the Latin, would read, ‘ Things are not always 
what they seem.’ ” Thus did Simon Bradstreet, the 
scholar, begin his story of the plot which had been 
discovered and foiled during the absence of Gov¬ 
ernor Winthrop and his Councillors. With mod¬ 
esty, he said little of his part in the affair but he 
stressed the bravery and good judgment of Samuel 
Dudley. 

‘^No, Governor,” young Dudley interrupted, 
the real hero of these three days is Richard Gar¬ 
rett. He and his sister first heard of this plot—or 
it was told to him by Yawata. He has shown 
remarkable judgment and courage.” 

“ Where is Richard Garrett? ” The Governor’s 
serving-man came into the kitchen with this in¬ 
quiry, a few minutes later. 

‘‘ He has just started for the green to make sure 
there are no more prowlers or plotters about to¬ 
night, to spoil the home-coming feast of the Gov¬ 
ernor,” explained Mistress Garrett. 

“ Call him back, if you can,” the serving-man 
said to Ann. He is sent for by Governor Win- 


TO BOSTON 


277 

throp to join his party. He has heard how brave 
the lad has been the last three days, and he now 
sends for him a summons to a seat at the guest- 
table.” 

Ann and Hannah both started on a run after 
Richard, calling him so loudly that he feared some 
new peril was upon the Governor’s house. When 
Hannah could get her breath to tell him what was 
wanted, that he was to return immediately and go 
in with the Governor and Miles Standish, he re¬ 
fused. But you must come back, Richard, it is 
like a king’s command and must be obeyed/^ she 
urged. 

What an ordeal it seemed to the lad! He could 
watch alone at night, he could fight villains who 
.plotted against the colony, he could easily kill 
rattlesnakes and wolves without a quiver—but now 
he was actually trembling when he entered the 
great room where the “ gentlefolk ” were feasting. 
Mistress Winthrop held out a hand and gave him 
a smile of reassuring welcome. The Governor 
said, “ Sit you down, lad, and share our pudding 
and nuts and raisins! ” Then he introduced him 
to Captain Miles Standish, saying, ''This is 
Richard Garrett, Captain, young but valiant; I 
think we shall have to call him ' Richard the Lion- 

Hearted.’ ” 


FROM BOSTON TO BOSTON 


‘‘Richard the Lion-Hearted!’’ Hannah heard 
the words of praise, as she stood with a trencher 
of nuts and a pitcher of home brew, to be handed 
on to the serving-man. She nearly dropped the 
pitcher and she did hold the trencher at such a 
slant, in her joyful agitation, that several nuts 
rolled off and across the kitchen floor, to the delight 
of Stephen’s playful kitten. Nuts! What were 
they? or what did anything else matter, she asked 
herself in her excitement. 

“ Oh, Mother! Mother! ” she said, hurrying to 
put her arms about her mother, as soon as she was 
relieved of nuts and brew. “ Mother, did you 
hear what Governor Winthrop called our Rich¬ 
ard? ‘ Richard the Lion-Hearted ’! Oh, I am so 
happy! Mistress Winthrop gave me this beautiful 
brooch, Winniyata has come to Boston, and 
Richard has been given this great honor by Gov¬ 
ernor Winthrop. All on my birthday! Mother, 
it is the happiest day in my life! ” 


The End 


[278] 


















may t 1 


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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